Is it easy taking that first step to admitting defeat?

"C-commander, he's losing a lot of blood!"

"Pull yourself together and keep pressure on that wound, Jean! We're almost there!"

Or is he content to drown himself in denial?

How does a man endure the weight of his failures crushing his soul into mortar? How does he get back to his feet and push forward knowing that all of his efforts were but a drop in the bucket, meaningless, futile, inconsequential. What is there to look forward to when the cycle of night and day only serve as a grim reminder to what looms ahead? When the soil prepares for the harvest, and the meadows echo the lament of the forsaken? What path is left? Destiny sealed, days numbered, judgement closing in.

Isn't it easier to let go?

"Floch, stay with me! Don't you dare die, you hear me?!"

Over the ocean, beyond the horizon, war's fiery talons eagerly lick at the sky, creeping ever closer, ready to consume all they hold dear.

Does he dare to taste more of this hell? Can he truly open his eyes now and witness the consequences of his failures firsthand? Doesn't misery love company? Hasn't he sworn to be a victim, to spare the weak and the innocent from this fate? Has he earned this rest or would it simply be unfair to leave those less fortunate to suffer in his stead?

This false peace that engulfs him, this agony that fractures his soul, it's all conflicting.

"He's going into shock!"

"Place him gently on the table and strip his clothes! Jean, Connie, support his legs! Sasha, fetch the first aid kit! Armin, Help me, I need clean hands!"

What remains for him? Except to recline on the blood soaked grass and gaze at the ashes descending, yielding to fate. Perhaps in that final act, the agony and disgrace of his failures will be left behind as he withers and fades into nothing.

"Hange!"

"I know!"

Or perhaps they'll come to haunt him for all eternity.

He can't decide which is worse.

His eyes snap open to the distant echoes of barking hounds, their howls slicing through the suffocating darkness. Panic surges within him, his heart a relentless drumbeat against his ribs. The obscurity of the room holds his body captive, rendering his muscles inert, a prisoner to his own dread. Disoriented, he lies upon the bed, shrouded in sheets as white as untouched snow. Next to him and sleeping on a chair is a man with ash-brown hair, covered in a blanket.

He finally notices it standing between them in the dark.

It towers ahead of him, menacingly. The barking in his ears intensifies, and it's form swells grotesquely, engulfing his vision. Twin emerald eyes, bloodshot and unhinged, lock onto his. A shiver cascades down his spine, the cold settles in his gut. Faint whispers akin to the chantings of Eldian priests crawl into his ears as his eyes lose focus.

Feeble whimpers escape his throat, a futile struggle as he languishes in the grip of helplessness.

But then, nothing.

Perhaps a trick of the light, or the cruelty of his own imagination, but it all vanishes with a single blink.

The room remains, yet he finds himself solitary this time. Sunlight, tinged with the hues of morning light, penetrates through a circular window on the wall to his left. The pain surges, and the aches of his muscles make themselves known as he lies in agony. Lightheaded, parched and confused, Floch looks around to make sense of it all.

The memories crash over him like a rushing curtain of debris. The faint spark left in his eyes vanishes as he gazes upward, a shuddering breath escapes him, before giving way to the birth of tears.

He failed.

The door to his room creakes open and Floch doesn't bother to look down, it isn't until Sasha is in his field of vision that she notices he's awake. His eyes slowly trace their path to meet hers, and she freezes in surprise, her face morphing with a mixture of surprise and relief. He notices a tray in her hands, one which she immediately sets down on the night stand next to his bed before she rushes out of the room.

He looks back up at the ceiling, and a moment later a heavy sigh escapes his lips as he brings his hand up to wipe his eyes.

"It's a huge relief to see you're awake, we were starting to get worried, Floch."

Floch slowly turns his head to the side to look at Hange, surrounded by everyone save for Captain Levi. He pathetically tries to move so he can sit up against the bedframe but Hange quickly halts that attempt, putting an end to the stabs of pain that shoot up from his limbs and abdomen.

"Please, don't do that. Your stitches are still fresh so they could be opened... Consider yourself lucky, you've lost a lot of blood, frankly it's a miracle that I managed to stop the bleeding in time." Hange worriedly says as she keeps her hand firmly pressed against his chest, staring down at him with something akin to motherly concern.

He frowns, lucky? Miracle? All to save him? He resists the urge to scoff, to tell her to cease that pitying look.

"Very well." He croaks.

"You had us worried sick, man." Connie says, before slapping Jean on the back. "Especially this guy right here, wouldn't leave your side at all." Jean shrugs his shoulder to get rid of the hand and shoots Connie a scathing look.

"I'm just glad you made it, you've been out for a couple of days now." He mutters with a hardened expression.

"Floch, I realize this might be a selfish request but I need you to tell me what happened when you were alone with Eren. Every detail could be crucial." Hange shifts closer, taking a seat beside his bed, her hand resting on his shoulder. Floch briefly glances at her hand, then meets her eyes with intensity. "Did he explain why they ran? What did he mean by 'it' being out of his control?"

Everyone in the room watches in silence, waiting with bated breaths. Floch takes a moment to collect his thoughts. He's weary of it all. "He said... things could've played out differently, but destiny had already set its course," he reveals. "He told me I wouldn't understand it now... but I would soon, just before Mikasa showed up."

Hange's expression hardens. "I see, is that all?" she murmurs.

He nods weakly. "How are we supposed to move on from this?" Floch turns his desperate gaze to her, thinly veiled.

Hange maintains her composure and opens her mouth to speak, though Floch cuts her off once he recognizes that look in her eye. "Just give me a straight answer!" Her surprise is evident, and the others behind her share the sentiment. He clenches his fist beneath the covers, shooting her an accusatory glare. "You must have a plan, an ace up your sleeve. You're in charge, right? Eren can't be our only hope, there must be something!"

"Floch," Jean tries to interject, but Floch pays no heed.

"What's our purpose now? Heading back empty-handed after that, who knows where they could have gone by now? I should've known better than to spare him; I should've finished him when I had the chance! If only I..."

"Stop blaming yourself! There was nothing you could have done against Mikasa alone." Jean interjects, frowning as he did so, fists clenching at the mention of the girl.

Connie chimes in, "He's right, there's no use crying over spilt milk."

Floch winces in pain as he sits up against the bedframe against Hange's wishes, his countenance darkening. "This isn't just 'spilt milk', Zeke informed his volunteers that Marley will strike as soon as the war ends, and without Eren's powers, we're completely helpless!" He cries out.

The room collectively stiffens, the gravity of his words sinking in. Hange's mouth falls slightly agape, and a brief look of disbelief flashes across her face before she regains her composure. Her eyes narrow as she demands, "Explain, now."

At this moment, he comprehends that none of this matters anymore, so he resigns himself to the inevitable and leans his head back against the wall as he confesses. "Six months back, Eren visited me in secret. He warned me that Eldia faced a grave threat, that we stood to lose everything if we didn't act swiftly. He said you were ill-equipped to handle what was coming and that there was only one way to prevent the world from wiping us out. So, we formed an alliance with Zeke Yeager. With my help and that of the volunteer, Yelena, we managed to exchange information between the two Yeager brothers."

Their reactions are nearly immediate, their gazes fixed on him with growing disbelief; the reveal of Eren glimpsing the future alarming them. "While you were all looking the other way, I worked in the shadows, recruiting comrades from the Survey Corps, Garrison, and the Military Police, even civilians. Our plan was to overthrow the current government and unleash the full Rumbling, securing our survival by wiping out everyone beyond the island."

They pale in horror at his words, staring at him as if he were the embodiment of evil. It's ironic; in a different life, Floch is sure this revelation would have unfolded under entirely different circumstances, perhaps in a world where they had the upper hand.

"That's why you didn't join us on the expedition to Marley... You're saying you... How many supporters have you gathered?" Hange is speechless, but she needs to gauge how close they came to that dreadful outcome.

"The entire Survey Corps save for most of the rookies and those present here, Captain Levi, and his men. A significant portion of the Garrison, and about half of the Military Police, excluding the higher-ups from all branches, many were recruited willfully, some were coerced into it."

"I can't believe it; we would've never seen it coming..." Hange mutters, her head hanging low, disappointment tinging her tone.

"What you were all planning.. Killing so many people, it's... It's unthinkable, millions of innocents slaughtered!" Sasha speaks up, her face still contorted in disbelief at the enormity of the atrocities that would have followed.

He gives her a nasty glare. "Don't lecture me on morals! Do you think I wanted this?! What other choices did we have?! Four years with little progress, the whole world is against us!" He lashes out at her, and no one responds. He glares at them before continuing, fighting back the pain in his body. "I became desperate, and that... that lying bastard tricked me. I... I thought I was doing something significant for the sake of everyone on our island, no matter the cost. I won't sit here and justify myself to any of you!"

Sasha opens her mouth and closes it several times, unsure of what to say, her eyes suddenly widen as she recalls something and realization dawns on her as her features soften. "That's what you meant the other night..."

"No, there is nothing to justify, thinking otherwise is simply ignorance. We had a plan with the Azumabito, and it was a viable alternative. Genocide is never the answer, innocent civilians are not our enemy. Eren's situation certainly complicated things, but had we been able to initiate the fifty year plan I'm confident we-" Hange asserts, but her conviction wavers as Floch bursts into sudden laughter, his smug, knowing look inciting her frustration but that quickly vanishes as the pain from the wound resurfaces.

"Commander, please, spare me your jests, do you want to talk about ignorance?" he chuckles with a wince, wiping a tear from his eye. He gazes back at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. "There is no fifty year plan!"

Alarmed, Armin's brow furrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"We weren't all on the same page, Eren and I weren't exactly pleased by what Zeke had in store for Eldia so we duped them into thinking we'd go along with their real plan... or at least that's what I thought Eren was thinking..." He mumbles, eyes flashing with regret.

Jean chimes in, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Hold on, what could they have been planning for you two to go straight to that?"

"Genocide."

"...Genocide?" Hange repeats, her confusion deepening.

"Yes, ours."

A chilling silence befalls the room as Floch continues.

"The fifty year plan was a trick. Zeke and his volunteers follow their own agenda and aren't here to aid us. The Azumabito are very much the same, only interested in our island's resources, I think we can all agree by now that beyond that plan there hasn't been much thought or any fail-safes put in place in case we lost the founder... like now for instance." Floch explains, before taking a deep breath. "As for Zeke, he intended to use the Founder's power to euthanize every Eldian on Earth, eradicating our entire race from existence."

Watching them crumble, piece by piece, drains him. The array of emotions they display reinforces how powerless they all are. Connie finds a chair in the corner and takes a seat, while Armin, and Jean remain frozen in shock.

"It doesn't make sense, if what you said is right then why did he just leave everything behind? That's not like him at all... And those things he told us... It's almost like he... accepted this outcome that we'd all be wiped out and didn't even want to fight it..." Armin's face scrunches with confusion as he racks his brain to think of an explanation.

Floch nods then turns to face the distressed Hange, who's now gazing back at him warily.

"A-are the Azumabito aware of this?" she stammers.

"Even if they were, I think we've all realized by now that they're driven by profits, even at our expense." Floch scoffs.

"I see..."

"If we had gone along with Zeke and the Azumabito, we would have faced annihilation. We had to seize control, but I never anticipated him taking off like that, it was... almost too good to be true, I should have known better." His hands clench the sheets, and he bows his head, pain flashing through his eyes. "We were always destined to be the victims. We had to do whatever it took to ensure that the people we protected wouldn't suffer the same fate, but trying to turn the tables on our oppressors has shown me this world could be quite cruel."

Hange remains motionless for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought with an ashen face. Floch hopes that with everyone realizing the severity of the situation, they'll drop the charade and act accordingly. A part of him is relieved because he no longer bears this burden alone. He's caught off guard when Hange breaks free from her contemplative silence with a smile.

"You're right, Floch. It would be foolish at this point to deny any of it, boy, that's quite the predicament we find ourselves in!"

Floch watches that winning smile with a great deal of confusion, and a hint of apprehension.

"I'm truly grateful that you've shared this with us," she says. She gets up and approaches him, patting him on the head. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been to keep all of this inside, knowing the atrocities you might have had to commit. I don't condone it, but I recognize it may have been a necessary evil. Still, our work isn't finished. As long as I'm alive, it's my responsibility to find a solution, hopefully one that doesn't entail the deaths of millions. We should never give up hope. Maybe one day, we'll look back on these times and laugh, as if it were all a bad dream."

"Commander..." Armin starts, concern in his eyes as she walks away.

"W-what are you saying? You're not doing what I think you are, are you? You're letting me off the hook?! After everything I just told you?!" Floch asks incredulously, baffled by her response.

"And what is it that you've said? That our allies aren't as friendly as we initially thought? That we are blindly being led to slaughter? You did what you felt was right, Is your faction still active?" She asks without turning back.

"N-no, I disbanded it a while ago, a week after the incident in Leonheart's holding cell... it was pointless to continue with everything that happened."

He almost swears he could see her sag with relief at hearing that. "Then, if no blood was shed, no harm was done. This will remain between us. You're not the enemy here; right now you're nothing more than a harmless young man who needs to recover, and if I understand correctly, locking up half our military body at a time like this over a coup that for all intents and purposes was hypothetical is counterintuitive."

The door suddenly opens, revealing a less-than-pleased Levi Ackermann. From his eyes alone, Floch can tell that Levi heard the entire conversation from start to finish. He briefly shoots the redhead a disgruntled look before turning to Hange. "The Azumabito are asking for you, four-eyes. We received a telegraph from the mainland."

"Tell them I'll be there shortly, Levi! Everyone, I think it's best if we let Floch get some rest for now, and I'm sure the rest of you need it as well." She cranes her neck and glances at him from the corner of her eye. "You should eat something as well. I apologize; I think the food has gone cold due to the length of our conversation, but it's still better than nothing."

He freezes, his tongue tied in disbelief as Sasha hands him the tray.

"Get well soon, Floch."

They all leave the room. Jean lingers for a moment, his troubled expression fixed on Floch before he grits his teeth and exits too.

Now, alone with his thoughts, Floch takes one more bitter bite of his food, each bite more painful than the last. He gently sets the tray aside, then eases back onto the bed. His gaze fixes on the ceiling. An overwhelming sense of emptiness washes over him, did he make the right choice?

He laid his sins bare.

Is there any glimmer of hope left?

Or is it too much to dare for?

His eyes start to well up with tears.

He struggles to comprehend who or what is the reason for these tears.

For how much he loves this land he calls home, there is something unsettling about encountering it once again. What was once a place of promise and prosperity now carries a more ominous aura. The air feels tainted, the warm sunlight chills, the gentle breezes turn sinister. It's all askew. Even the people appear different, as if they could already tell. Who do these poor fools think they're saluting as they disembark from the ship? What do they think they're saluting, exactly?

There is nothing to be felt but shame and self-loathing as they transport him up north for proper treatment. His thoughts are consumed by darkness as he gazes out over the horizon. Better men have borne the burden of their failures, carried the weight of their deeds. Stronger men like Erwin Smith wouldn't have felt so helpless. Yet, he's not Erwin, and he knows he can never hope to be.

How he wishes he were.

He once believed they needed a devil, but now he longs for an angel, a miracle—anything but the emptiness that surrounds him.

All this contradiction, all this confusion.

It's all so exhausting.

Sleep remains elusive as he spends his days in the confines of the Ehrmich military hospital. The rational part of his mind tells him he shouldn't be in this bed. He should be in a cell or facing execution, not here. He's crossed too many lines, and by all rights, he shouldn't even be a scout anymore. But the commander continues to surprise him, the naivety of it all. Almost a week of medical leave has passed, and still, there's no sign of punishment looming over him.

Strangely enough, he takes great offense to that, as if he isn't worth the time or effort. Not that he has any knowledge of what's happening outside. No one has visited him, and those few who tried, he turned away... or tried to.

He sits on his bed, an open window to his right allowing the breeze to flow into his room and offering him a broad view of the hospital's courtyard below. His eyes reveal a distant gaze, one of complete detachment from his surroundings. He remains unresponsive to the hurried footsteps approaching his room from outside, the door being pushed open, or the person standing over him, out of breath.

"Floch!" She calls out, her voice ringing with urgency, and he turns his head, slowly shifting his gaze to meet Hitch's. "I came as soon as Jean told me. I can't believe it, you idiot! I can't believe you nearly... I'm relieved you're okay!"

Floch meets her eyes with a hollow stare, devoid of emotion. What's the worry in her eyes for? Why did she even bother coming? She shouldn't be here, he muses to himself. Her concern only repulses him, a sickening sensation. He's the patient he should now, and her presence is like an unwanted intrusion, through no fault of her own.

He turns his gaze away and stares out the window, hoping she'll take the hint and leave on her own.

Unaware, she smiles and steps closer. "Come on, say something. I had to take a break from my duties to visit. I grabbed these flowers on the way. It was a last-minute choice, so if they're not to your liking, tough luck! How are you feeling?" She says as she places them inside the vase on the nightstand.

"Jean mentioned you weren't doing well... I know things aren't weel, but we can talk it out, you know? You don't have to carry it alone. Remember our last conversation?" She flashes a hopeful smile.

He mumbles something inaudible, and she leans in, furrowing her brow. "What?"

"Why are you here?"

Her eyes widen, confusion washing over her. "What do you mean? You're injured, and friends check up on each other, right?" His icy demeanor doesn't seem to deter her. "Hey, what's with the attitude? I thought you were getting better at this. Look, I know things are tough, and you're hurt... Talking about it could help. I'm here for you if you let me."

"You should leave."

Her patience wears thin quickly; his sharp tone makes her furrow her brows. "After coming all this way? No chance. Besides, we made a promise, remember?" Her annoyance shifts to a small grin as she sits in the chair beside him. "Lose the negativity and loosen up already, it doesn't suit you, you know?"

"Please, just trust me, I'm here for you if you allow me to be." She places her hand on his knee, offering him a reassuring look.

His lip curls into an ugly sneer, his eyes brimming with rage, as if it's an insult. "Trust you? And talk? About what, exactly?! How my day's been?! My failures?! How I doomed us all?!" He erupts, his eyes filled with contempt. "How can a naive and foolish girl who thinks pretending everything is fine will solve her problems understand what it's like? Cowering in a warm bed while others sacrifice themselves for something far greater than themselves! The time for talking is over damn it, you hear me? It's over!"

"I have no interest in 'talking', I suggest you get that through that thick head of yours and leave!" He snarls at her.

Her hand recoils off his leg as if scorched, and a frown creases her face as she gazes back at him in shock. Moments later, her expression turns to one of complete disdain, and he finds it more fitting. But he doesn't anticipate her hand lashing out, the stinging sensation and the burning mark it leaves on his cheek.

Hitch stands up idgnantly afterwards, gazing down at him with a cold fury, "I should've known better. I can't believe I made this effort for you, someone so rotten to the core. If you think you're being selfless this way then you're wrong, people like you never change."

She exits, slamming the door behind her, Floch resumes his solitary contemplations as if nothing happened. She shouldn't involve herself with the likes of him, it's better this way, for everyone involved. He isn't the sort to put his heart on his sleeve, he's been too open, too careless, talking changes nothing now. At the very least, he could save her such trouble.

He glances at the flowers she brought from the corner of his eyes, before his eyes fall upon the small stack of letters left unopened besides them.

With enough luck he wouldn't be long for this world.

Unfortunately, two weeks pass by, the days dragging on as he either remains confined to his bed or slowly regains his ability to walk, taking aimless strolls through the garden outside with the help of somebody who logically should have had him hung. In this tranquil setting, he despises everything that his senses encounter. Sitting in a chair amidst the garden, he watches those fortunate enough to be blissfully unaware, their sole concern being their recovery. He envies them, regardless of whether it makes a difference or not.

Deep within the recesses of his mind, a small voice whispers that this isn't a way to live, that this existence is far from healthy. He acknowledges this truth, but he feels powerless. There's no false hope to hold onto, no deity to call upon, and no one with an answer to turn to. He's simply a captive to the relentless march of the inevitable.

He stops trying to turn people away, too much effort, he's content to pretend he's listening.

Jean drops by once or twice a week, things between them are different nowadays, conversations are rough, there's a bitterness and tension in the air now, a consequence of his confession. Despite this, he's thankful, it keeps him sane. His mother had fallen ill recently, but he says she'd recover in no time, what a relief

Sasha and Connie paid him a visit, bringing an array of food and drinks, the nurses make a fuss about it. Some things never change, especially their foolish antics. He's grateful for it, it keeps him sane. Sasha discreetly mentions their previous conversation about Hitch, and her name causes his eye to twitch, though she remains oblivious. She secures reservations at Niccolo's restaurant for him to use later, lovely.

Louise, Holger and Wim also came on the same day as those two were leaving. They rushed in as soon as they heard, getting in trouble for it with their captain. It reminds him of his time with Sandra and Gordon, they weren't that much different. He's pleased with them, it keeps him sane. They tell him about their progress, of the various tasks they've completed during their training in the regiment, they're excited for their first expedition, adorable.

Armin comes during the weekends, he has few words to say, they're not friends. Neither bring up the incident in Rosetta, neither want to speak about it. Sometimes they talk about whatever's on the morning's newspaper, sometimes it's a chess match, sometimes nothing. He appreciates it, it keeps him sane. Armin mentions that he's stopped visiting Leonhart in jail, believing that nothing good comes from conversing with the dead much less an enemy, good for him.

Hange's visits are the most frequent and comforting, he'll never admit that. She takes care of him when needed, helps him walk too, though being treated like a child annoys him. She knows when to respect his boundaries. Over time, he even starts listening to her vent about her troubles and duties as commander. He values her wisdom; it keeps him sane. She continues to pretend as if nothing happened, even shares that the Azumabito have finally been forced to change their stance on Eldian trade with other nations, reaching out to those willing to negotiate—How promising.

Ever since Shiganshina, he ceased pondering death entirely. The perfect death, as he once called it, was to meet an end that left him satisfied with his accomplishments. Not in some backwater shithole, where nobody would see him die, but on the front lines, where his death would make a meaningful impact, where he would pass away with the knowledge that he'd made a difference. There's no such possibility left for him now, no opportunity for such a meaningful conclusion.

So he questions himself about all the hesitance, the second thoughts, and the trembling in his hands. Why is it that he can't fully commit to this single meaningless action? The sweat gathering in his palms, the quivering of his breath, and the frantic pounding of his heart all point to his struggle. Why can't he push past these barriers? His finger itches as it hovers over the trigger, and yet he doesn't go all the way through. Stuck in the middle between life and death, it would be better this way, he tells himself.

He has nothing left here, nothing he could do.

He's fully aware of how selfish he's become, and it gnaws at him. It's not about the people, not Jean, Hange, Sasha, or anyone else, and certainly not Hitch. He couldn't care less about their opinions, or how they'd feel after the fact, he has no purpose and as such the choice isn't too complicated. Yet, It's Eldia that occupies his thoughts differently. It wouldn't be fair to her, not at all. She's given him so much, and in return, he's offered so little. It would be ingratitude in its purest form.

There's a knock on the door, the pistol pulls away from his open mouth and finds refuge beneath his pillow, another day, perhaps.

A woman with brown hair, a stranger to him, enters the room and closes the door behind her. The first things that catch his attention are the red shawl draped over her beige overdress and her striking blue eyes, how noticeably pregnant she is despite attempting to conceal it. She takes a few steps closer, and as her features become clearer, he notices her thin-lipped expression and the hint of contempt in her sapphire gaze.

Her lips part to speak, and he's never heard anyone sound so disappointed in him before. "You have a lot of nerve ignoring me like that for an entire month, you know that?"

He averts his gaze, acutely aware of the gun pressing up against the small of his back beneath the pillow. "I wasn't aware we were that close, I'm busy currently, in case you haven't noticed."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

His eyes narrow, he turns to her as she takes a seat next to his bed.

"You went off to drink yourself into a coma and stopped writing back to me, and then the moment Jean got you back on track, you nearly got yourself killed! Do you even read the letters I send you?" She scolds him, casting a glance toward his nightstand, where withered flowers sit next to a stack of unopened letters. Her frown deepens, and she looks back at him with indignation. "You half-assed bastard, you let them sit there without reading them or even tossing them away?!"

This annoys him, he clenches his teeth and asks, "Why are you here?"

She hisses back at him. "Because you're an idiot, is that a good enough reason? Don't tell me I need your permission to come check on you, or have you forgotten who I am?"

"No, your majesty. You know what I meant, you're in no condition to be moving around like this, much less doing it for the likes of me."

She rolls her eyes, "Don't treat me as if I'm made of glass, being pregnant is not a disability. And I'm not doing it just for you, I have more than enough reasons to come visit you, like this for starters." She takes the few letters she had sent and smacks him over the head with them. "And I believe I told you to cut the formalities."

He releases a grunt, before taking in her appereance once more, she looks inconspicuous, just another face on the street.

"My apologies, Historia."

Her glare softens, as she shoots him a concerned look. "How are you feeling? Are you recovering well?"

Floch doesn't answer, he contemplates lying to her but he knows it won't work, she's not easily fooled. He looks down at his hands, the muscles on his face relaxing with resignation.

"I told them everything."

Historia's eyes widen, her blood freezes in her veins as he meets her gaze. "About Eren, our plans, everything." He sends a sidelong glance to the view from his widow as he continues. "I didn't mention anything about the Queen and the purpose of the child growing in her womb, they didn't need to know." His features twist into an ugly sneer. "Commander Hange pretty much gave me a slap on the wrist, if you could even call it that. They all visit me from time to time and pretend nothing happened."

"Him and I spoke briefly before Mikasa showed up you know?" This catches her attention further, tensing in response. "When I asked, He said that he thought about you and the child every single day, isn't that funny? That you're on his mind while he willfully leaves you behind to die?"

Pain flashes in her eyes as she lowers her gaze, hands clenching the fabric of her robe, she doesn't respond. Floch watches her with a bated breath, he doesn't know what is it he's hoping for watching her struggle with that information but she surprises him nonetheless.

"Idiot," she mutters under her breath.

He raises an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

She glares at him. "I said you're an idiot. You're lucky it was Hange and the rest! What were you thinking?"

"That's what you're worried about?" He frowns at her.

"Who should I be worried about then?! That bastard, or the people I should actually be caring about?! You could have been killed on the spot confessing that to anybody else!"

"I should have been killed ages ago! And why does it even matter if they know or not? It's all over, don't you understand?" He explodes, a sense of hopelessness washing over him. "I failed us, Historia, all of us! I had him, on the end of this damn gun!" In an instant he reaches his limit, he takes out the pistol from beneath his pillow, eliciting a gasp from her. "He was at my mercy. If I had just paid enough attention, he'd be here right now, getting eaten, and we'd have the Founding Titan again, a chance! But... but now?" His lips quiver, a manic gleam in his eyes.

"Floch, why do you have that under your pillow? Where did you get that?" Historia asks cautiously.

"We're all doomed. It's only a matter of time, I just damn know it... I- I can't stop thinking about what's coming, it's always replaying in my mind, driving me insane... If only I had never gotten out of that damn field alive... I can't do this anymore."

"Floch, listen to me! Put it down!" Historia implores, trying to get him to turn and look at her, but she doesn't dare make a move yet.

"Erwin would know, he would, not me... not me... I'm just... just... a failure."

He brings the gun up to his mouth, the barrel pressing into the roof of his mouth, his finger moves to squeeze the trigger but Historia lunges at him and pushes it away, struggling to keep it away from him. He's brought out of his own musings as he looks up at her with hurt and anger. "What the hell are you doing?! Let go!"

"You're not just a failure! You're a pathetic crybaby too!" Her voice pierces the air, her eyes ablaze with fury.

He freezes, abandoning his futile struggle to break free. Their hands remain locked in an intense standoff.

"You moan about circumstances beyond your control, as if it's all your doing. What's worse, you're a selfish jerk! You want to end it that badly? Well, you missed your chance! You're no soldier, no hero, just a pitiful idiot, a whining idiot! You're acting just like he did, a crybaby who refuses to own up. It sickens me!" She cries out, her effort evident in her wince, but she stands her ground, her unwavering gaze never wavering.

"When I read the report about Shiganshina, I admired your actions that day! Even now, as you resist drowning in despair by going overseas. Your true strength lies in the fact that, no matter how hard you fall, you stand back up, no matter what! I don't want to speak to this loser in front of me, I want to speak to that Floch, the coward who never gives up."

He falls silent once more, lowering his head, his face hidden behind his bangs, moments later, his brows knit, and desperation tinges his plea. "I can't, that Floch is not here anymore, there's nothing left for him! Nothing!"

"He has a land, a people, and a Queen to serve," she leans in, her tone frigid and authoritative. "He can't take the easy way out. Can't run, can't abandon it as easily as the rest. Stay and defend it all with every last breath, Erwin Smith is not here but Floch Forster is."

His eyes widen, and he releases a trembling breath, his grip on the pistol loosening.

"Give me the gun."

Complying with her command, he relinquishes it. She carefully removes it from his grasp, placing it on the nightstand, deliberately keeping it out of reach. Then, she enfolds him in her arms as he crumbles into tears. He clings to her, sobbing, an ugly sound forces it's way out of his throat as he trembles, anguished cries resonating beyond the confines of the room. She offers solace, tenderly patting his head and whispering reassurances into his ears, allowing him this moment of vulnerability. He remains there in her embrace, uncertain of how long, feeling a mixture of shame and gratitude for what she's done.

In that moment, he's utterly shattered, but even broken tools can still find purpose.

Silently, he makes a vow, not to Historia, but to the Queen, and to Eldia.

A promise to be there until the end.

Helloooooo! Who is cutting onions in here? Is it me? (It would be really tragic for if the scene above shits the bed, instead of like really cool and tear jerking and oscar worthy writing hihihi)

My sisyphus-esque struggle is attempting to write kino without sounding pretentious. This was a hard chapter to put out, I was busy with other stuff, either writing Seeking the devil or the other fics or just real life in general but I managed to finish this and finally update after like 3 months of nothing.

I wanted to thank all the support this story's received, especially by the regulars who've been popping up in all my fics, you guys are like, really really awesome sauce or whatever, really cool that you enjoy my writing! (or pretend to hihi)

"It's pretty pathetic that the only way the Survey Corps. can actually think of "doing something" is not going out to make alliances and develop their nation without the rumbling but to just drag back to Paradis the only person who actually have the strength to save them."

I'd agree with this comment if the lore I had to work with didn't specifically state that the Azumabito were being cockblockers by preventing Eldia from forming alliances with other nations, which of course if anybody's read this chapter would find out I moved to deal with that issue though if it works or not remains up in the air, some think this story is like really hopeless and dark and tragic but who knows? :)

Anyway, again, thanks for reading and I'll see you soon (lie) enjoy the rest of your day/night! (Truth).