Eighth Passing of the Maize-Reed Moon, 4 Kuts'o' Ja'-áayin
Twenty-five miles from the ruins of K'áaxo'
The fire crackled before him, spitting out its warmth with blazing abandon. His sister curled into his side, tired body having finally succumbed to sleep.
Ocuil wished his could, too.
Yet, he felt little of anything, these days. Not since he had fled from the fiery doom that had befallen his home, from the ashen-rains that had scorched the land and had seen kin and kith slain in all manner of wretched ways. Of the seventeen that had lived in their dwelling, his parents and aunts and uncles and sisters and cousins, only he and his sister remained.
The ghost of a crying child grasped at his hand, and the boy swallowed a sob back. Even little Izel… Ocuil had grabbed both him and Titic the moment the earth had started to shake, and had run as fast as he could. Not fast enough, for his brother.
Maybe, had he taken a different turn, he might yet still live. Maybe, had he been quicker, it would be Izel still alive and not him. Maybe, maybe, maybe-
The flames licked at his exposed foot, Ocuil having scooted too close to the fire. Pain dragged him from the depths of his numb sorrow, and he felt a vague annoyance at it. The numbness was all he had left now, the only thing that let him push onwards, save his duty as Titic's last older sibling. The thought was somewhat amusing, he being the oldest now.
The thought had to be amusing, for if he thought about it any other way, his wails would never end.
Wailing is all it ever seemed to be, these days.
Not even a month had passed since K'áaxo' had fallen, yet the cries of the disaster's victims echoed across the land. The fires had been far-reaching, even after the city had been swept aside by it. Ōahō had been thrust into turmoil, into an age none had ever seen and none had ever prepared for.
Ocuil was not old enough to remember his people's last revolt against their overlords, but he had grown up in the final years of its aftermath. Their overlords had been cruel and merciless, once the uprising had been brought low, and the people of Ōahō had seethed in Marley's iron grip.
But, that suffering paled in comparison to now.
It was only through luck and desperation that he and his sister had survived those first few days following K'áaxo's fall, all sense of order failing around them. He had led them away from the fallen Realm-Atop-the-Mount, no destination in mind but away, somewhere safe.
Ocuil was not entirely sure there was such a place. Not anymore.
Yet, he had pushed, ever onwards towards the west, for Titic's sake. They had family there, he'd always been told, and he latched onto those old words like a drowning man lapping up fresh water.
Food had always been scarce, much of what his people toiled the fields for going to feed the colonisers, and it had only become scarcer still since K'áaxo''s destruction. The harvest season was not for another few moons, and those who had food had turned to guarding it zealously.
The boy's hand twitched, a sharp memory flashing through his mind, then to the long bayonet looped around his belt.
He had done terrible things, to keep his sister fed.
In the end, they'd come across, and joined, a group of folks just as wary and weary as they, who too sought to escape the ever-expanding turmoil from the city. Safety in numbers, the elder leading them had cited, and Ocuil, tired and hungry and ever-more desperate, had agreed.
He was one of the hunters, now, those of the group who foraged for what foodstuffs had been left behind, or animals to bring to the slaughter. More work, yes, for there were more than two mouths to feed, but no longer did he fall asleep fearing to wake up and find Titic gone or slain, or he surrounded by vagrants.
Sleep, awake, eat, hunt, eat, sleep. All while they trekked further west, in search of…
In search of what? he thought sullenly, reprieve? There can be none, for what it soon to doom us all.
Had it been another city, any other city that had fallen, the despair that had befallen the nation would never had been so potent. But, K'áaxo' had fallen, had been destroyed so utterly, wiped from the earth like one swept aside dirt from the doorway.
K'áaxo' had fallen, and the Weeneluno were going to open their eyes. The Waking was upon them. The end approached, and there was nothing they could do about it, not anymore. It was over, for them. He-
"Might a man," a stranger's voice called, "find solace by your fire?"
It was with surprised haste that Ocuil jerked from his slumped rest, hand reaching for the bayonet he kept close at hand, and he was not alone in doing so - half the menfolk of their group had risen to meet the stranger, who now raised his hands in placation. No weapon was within the stranger's reach, a cursory glare revealed, yet the wariness remained.
"Peace, countrymen all," the stranger asked, "I mean no harm." Yet, Ocuil and his fellows watched him with barely-veiled suspicion. With the city gone, lawlessness had overtaken the land. It surprised Ocuil little and less, the chaos - panic and despair was rampant. A great woe had fallen upon them all, and there was nothing any, he thought, could do to alleviate it. Though, he did wonder where the soldiers from their masters overseas were. In times like these, it was a common sight to see their white-clad soldiers patrolling the streets, bringing "order"... more oft than not at gunpoint.
(And, at the thought of wretched Marley, a fist clenched.)
"Let him through," came the voice of another, this one well known. Tonauac, he who all among them deferred to in their journey westward, the one who Ocuil had thrown his lot in with in order to get him as far away from the ruins of his home as possible. And, if he said let him pass…
Ocuil was among the first to step aside, and let the man through, all the while keeping Titic behind him. One could not afford to be too careful in these times - even now, though his group had seen them not, whispers had reached them that their Marleyan conquerors were sending their enforcers into the heartlands of the country, visiting all manner of savagery on the people. It would be just like the milkskins, snakes that they were, to send a spy among them.
…Yet, this stranger did not act as those who were little more than dogs to the Marleyans. Indeed, the stranger was well-dressed - not in the Marleyan fashion, but the true garb of the people, the style that had survived away from the cities in the rural areas and away from the overly-prying eyes of their Marleyan masters.
Still, Ocuil watched the stranger keenly as he closed the distance between himself, Tonauac, and the main fire, before stoping about an arm's length away. The silence persisted for a moment, before the man leading them spoke.
"What says your heart, stranger?" Tonauac asked, and the stranger's shoulders slumped.
"My hearts weeps mournfully, honoured host," he replied. "It has lost much, and will lose more. It yearns for a fire, where it might rest its burdens for but a moment."
"Then rest yourself, honoured guest. You have wearied yourself, coming here."
And, the traditional greetings given and hospitality imparted, the two men sat, followed by everyone else. The tension was still there, unspoken, but it had lessened greatly. The stranger, for better or worse, was a guest, now.
One of the woman, responsible for the encampment's night meal of corn, fowl broth, and flat loaves, offered a bowl to the newcomer, who nodded his gratitude, though with a mournful face. "So far we have fallen," came the stranger's lament, "that our people can only eat the dregs of what is edible."
"These are… troubled times," Tonauac sighed, shoulders falling. And that, Ocuil knew, was selling it lightly. Not since the last Flower Wars of myth had the nation been cast into such turmoil.
"Dark times indeed," the stranger agreed, before pausing oddly for a moment. "But… what if they did not have to be?"
There was silence, for a moment, as all around the fire contemplated the stranger's words. Ocuil was no exception this. It was clear, now, that the stranger had come to them for something, though what that something was yet eluded him. Dark times, but they did not have to be? Ocuil knew not how that could come about.
He… he saw no brightness, in the times to come.
And, evidently, he was not the only one to feel that way, for one of the elders among them broke into a bitter laugh."Impossible!" he hissed, standing on shaky legs and pointing east - towards that cursed place, that city which had been the holiest of cities. "We have failed. There can be nothing but darkness for us, and all generations to follow!"
As he went on, the elder's voice grew more rabid, more desperate, until he was openly weeping. "K'áaxo' is lost to us!" he wept, tearing at his hair. "The Weeneluno awaken with plague on their lips and livers alust with the desire to cast as all into the ether! What salvation is there left to us?!"
The wailing around the camp began anew, as it had almost every night with the passing of the sunblot. Even Ocuil felt himself stiffening, mind fighting rabidly to stave off the maddening thoughts of what awaited him in the afterlife. There was no way around the fact that all Ōahō had failed in their charge - to ensure the satiation of their slumbing gods so that they would not wake and cast their world into the underworld.
But, they had failed. Every soul - man, woman, and child - had been condemned to the coldest cenote of the abyss. His mother, father, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, his sweet sisters-
Ocuil could almost hear their screams and wails echoing from the darkness beyond the fire. The spirits beneath would have no mercy for even them, and a great wave of fear and despair fell upon him. It would be his turn, one day, to languish in torture for eternity, damned never to feel the sun again, and it terrified him.
Then the stranger spoke again, voice rising above the despondent crescendo.
"Yes!" he cried, weeping with the rest, but amidst the despair to be found in his voice, there was something else. Something smouldering, something burning. "K'áaxo' is lost to us, yes! The slumbering ones awaken, yes! But, kinsmen, I ask of you-! Our city is gone, but who destroyed it?! Who condemned us to horrors beyond comprehension?! Our husbands, our wives, our children, our kinsmen! Hundreds upon thousands sentenced unjustly, yet you know not who!?
And there was deafening silence.
"You are quiet, cousins," the stranger spoke, "for you know the answer in you hearts. Only one in this world would bring about such horrors upon us. Only one power could destroy the holiest of holies, who could cast the sky into darkness!" With every word, Ocuil could see the fire in the man blaze higher and higher. So too, the boy saw, did his fellows, and Ocuil could almost feel their fires smolder to life as well. "End-bringer," the honoured guest hissed. "Sun-blot. Grass-plague, Maize-blight! GOD-WAKER!"
The Colossal Titan of Marley.
So taken aback by the obvious realisation he was that Ocuil did not register the shock for a good moment. Who else, indeed?
Then, incredulousness turned to roaring, blazing anger. Who else, but Marley?
That the colonisers had subjugated them for nigh-on half a century had not been enough? What crime had the Nuudi'lo committed that warrented the oblivion of their souls, that could only be repaid with the deaths of untold thousands and the destruction of their greatest city? He and his sister were orphans, now, bereft of all prospects and possessions save the clothes on their backs and the blood that pumped through then. Cursed blood, at that, doomed to the annihilation of nothingness.
They had done this to him. Had murdered his family, destroyed his home, condemned them to the abyss. Them. Foul, wretched, perfidious Marley.
The blazing anger turned into an inferno of hate.
"Even now," the stranger hissed, "the wretched ones gather their strength to march on the city, our city! Ruins it may be, but they have defiled it enough! NO MORE!" His voice grew louder yet still, prouder, resplendent. "Hear me, cousins, and know the words of the Huey Tlaotani! The milk-skins slew our Revered Speaker in the last war, yes, but his line persists! A Revered Speaker walks the earth once more! PRINCE CUAHTEMOTZIN LIVES!"
That news was met with a roar of celebration, the first in a long, long time. Ocuil joined his voice to the multitude. All present knew the significance of those words, how could they not? The line of the Revered Speaker was old, older than Marley's grip on their country. Every uprising that had occurred had been headed by a Revered Speaker… until the fifth, where Huey Tlaotani Axayacatl had been captured, then executed, the line severed.
But, they had a Prince, now. And that… that meant…
…
First, he would see his sister safely away with what remained of their family to the west. But, after that…
No longer could Ocuil sit by and let the milk-skins muddy his homeland with their presence. No more would Ocuil idle by and do nothing to repent for the Great Sin. And there was only one currency that could possibly pay for it. One way to salvation for the souls of his kin, living and dead.
Blood for blood.
"...To date, the ultimate cause behind the Destruction of K'áaxo' still remains unknown, eluding all who have, thus far, attempted to explain it. Though many attribute it to the untimely eruption from a once-dormant volcanic chain - indeed, latest geological dig sites would confirm such to be the case - others point to the timing of the city's destruction coinciding with all the armies of Marley, both foreign and colonial, being brought to bear against the threat at home.
Thusly, many theories would later abound (though touted mostly by anti-Eldian radicals) placing the Destruction at the head of an Eldian-led conspiracy to weaken Marley as a whole, regardless of the fact that such an endeavour would have been impossible for Paradis to achieve, given the distance between it and Westerozean-Marley. Yet, all else aside, the facts of the disaster remained, and a disaster it was - the Destruction of the city alone left somewhere between 500 000 to 600 000 dead in the aftermath, and that number would rise to nearly a million before the month was out. And, unfortunately for the Nuudi'lo peoples, the troubles would not end there.
However, it cannot be denied that the eradication of the ancient Nuudi'lo capital came to be an unexpected boon for Eldia's war effort, with the reinforcements originally set to be shipped over from Westerozean-Marley now beset upon by a uprising in Old Ōahō the likes of which it had never seen- for indeed, all the peoples of the Nuudi'lo nations, having born witness to the destruction of the most sacred of their holy sites and now convinced that the End Times - the Waking - were thusly upon them, sought to prostrate themselves before their gods with the only penance that they saw fit;
That of the invader's blood.
For, in the eyes of the Nuudi'lo peoples- and indeed, that of the whole world in c.854, there was only one possible power that could bring such destruction; Marley's God of Destruction.
And, unfortunately for Marley's already-sullied reputation, its Holder was coming home."
- Ba'ate'lo: Mesonamericiea and the Years of Strife (c.871), by Lilo Kailani
Twenty-Second Day of the Six Month, Jahr Unseres Gründers c.854
Fort Kattean, Dweit Territory, Continental Marley
The Warriors of Marley sat, silent, and ate, silent - just as they had the night before, and the night before that, and night before that one as well.
Silence between them was not unusual. Often times, after a battle or a particularly long campaign, the Warriors would gather in a room much like the one they were in now, taking the time to unwind in the presence of trusted comrades and friends. It had been over a decade since they had inherited their Titans, and twelve years since they had all been enrolled in the Warrior Program. There was no others in the world who could possibly understand each other, other than the Warriors themselves.
(There were exceptions, of course. Her dear Pock, for one - for all that he wasn't a Shifter himself, having been passed over in favour of Reiner - and there wasn't a day she didn't thank Marco for what he had done to ensure that - had trained just as hard as them, had cried and bled alongside them. He understood what the weight of their Titans felt as well, seeing as he was the designated heir to the Jaw.
Falco's older brother did as well, though he hadn't been trained in Pieck's cohort. And he wasn't among them today, having chosen to tend to the kids instead. All the better, she thought.)
Silence between the Warriors was not unusual.
But, today's silence was.
Unconsciously, Pieck found herself counting the people in the room. Her Pock, sitting right beside her. Marcel on the sofa next over to her right. Annie and Reiner, newly arrived, on the sofa to the left. An empty lounging chair on the other end of the table.
Five in all, now that Reiner and Annie had finally arrived.
There should be six.
Seven, if one counted Bertholdt, but he hadn't been present on this side of the world for a few years, now. His absence was always expected.
The Warchief's, however, was not.
"It… explains a lot, unfortunately." First to break the silence, Pieck nervously sipped at her cup of coffee. Bitter, just how she disliked it- but it kept her awake, and as much as she wished for nothing more than a warm bed (with Porco at her side), the Cart Titan needed to be awake for this.
Two days. Two days since they had last been allowed to gather together by their commanders. Two days since Zeke had disappeared into the bowels of Kattean. Two days since news from abroad had reached the Oberkommando, and all hell had broken loose.
Again.
First, it was when we were up in the Mid-East, about Liberio, and now-
That the Devils were invading had been bad news enough, but it was localised bad news. Hizuru was too far away to render aid to Paradis, and Manzhou would keep any such aid bogged down if Pieck understood her geography correctly. There was only so much the Devils would be able to do, when their homeland was an island not even a fraction the size of Marley, and with only two Titans at most, to boot.
But, the news that had sent the Warriors reeling had come from abroad.
That meant international backing. That meant legitimacy. And for every ounce of legitimacy the Island Devils gained, the good Eldians would suffer for it, she knew.
(It was already happening, after all.)
Pieck, contrary to the airheaded persona she was somewhat known for, was not an idiot. She knew the battles fought in places like the Ballroom, where weapons were veiled words and battles were little more than "friendly" chats, were just as important as the ones fought in the mud and dust.
Nursing his own drink, Marcel nodded slowly. "Hindsight agrees with you there," he murmured.
"And makes us all look like fools," came Porco's growl. "How many years did we wonder? We all questioned how he could control Pure Titans so well, how he could control them at all! And we never thought to-!"
His words gave way to another frustrated hiss, only quelled by Pieck temporarily giving his shoulders a massage. "Yelling about it won't change the fact that we missed it, Porco," she chided gently, to his grumbling acquiescence.
"He's right, though," Annie sighed. Not once since she'd sat down had she looked up from her drink, watching it cool with a sullen, apathetic gaze. "We didn't catch it, and the brass won't like that. We've made too many mistakes, of late. Marley's been humiliated more in the last four years than they have in the last fourteen, and the people are going be angry. They'll be looking for someone to blame."
And who, the words went unsaid, would be a better scapegoat than the Fritz spy who had managed to steal the Beast Titan? Or, perhaps, his Warriors, now suspect in his schemes?
She was silent for a moment, before taking a sip of coffee with an expression that told Pieck that Annie yearned for something stronger. "Our position in the army is… precarious, now. Any more surprises like that…"
…Annie's words weren't codespeak in the slightest, but her meaning was clear. If the current trend continued as it was, Marley might see them as liabilities, not assets.
And liabilities to the fatherland did not tend to remain within it for long.
Out of the corner of her gaze, Pieck saw Marcel and Reiner share a look, obviously considering their words - and Marcel, ever the peace-keeper, decided to speak up next.
"...Marley has no reason to replace known, loyal, and competent Shifters," he spoke carefully. "They know our worth, and that we'll serve the fatherland faithfully until our terms are up." Marley won't risk replacing us right now, They can't, not with the Devils nipping at our heels.
And that was not even thinking of whatever was happening in Westerozean. The top brass had come down hard on any news coming from that side of the world, and even Magath had refused to tell the Warriors anything besides the tidbit that Bertholdt was on his way home. Whether that lack of forthcoming was due to the new heap of suspicion the Warrior unit now had to bear now, or if the information was simply that sensitive, Pieck did not know, and suspected she never would.
All anyone did know, however, was that whatever had happened, it was big, and that the Oberkommando were not pleased. They seldom were, these days.
Then again, one could say that about the entirety of the military, now, especially amongst Pieck's fellow Eldians. The backlash of the reveal that there had been a spy amongst them had led to the repealing of a good many hard-fought-for rights they had once enjoyed - mingling with the other auxiliary contingents, the freedom to wander between barracks… all of that had been abolished, and restrictions they faced had only grown tighter- and the revelations of Zeke's deceit had only made it worse.
The only small blessing that seemed to have come of it was that the threat of decimatio had remained just that - a threat, yes, ever-present like a sword held above their heads… but not a promise. For all that the Warrior Unit were more isolated from the Eldian contingent than other special forces were, Pieck still had threads among the ranks, and to lose them just because of some Devil having wormed his way into the army…
Such luck, of course, had not managed to save the ranks of the squad the spy had inserted himself into - though the remaining five members of said squadron had been found innocent of espionage charges and thus, saved from a firing squad, they had been demoted all the way to the bottom rungs for "gross negligence and dereliction of duty", and Pieck suspected they were on the blacklist of those who would never even get the chance to become Honorary Marleyans.
A blacklist that the Warriors might have been moved to, now.
(Even the thought that, after everything they had done for Marley, that she had done for Marley, that they might still strip away her Honorary status simply because she had not noticed the lies of her Warchief…)
Pieck took a calming breath, and another sip, content to listen and Reiner lent his voice to the conversation. "Marcel's correct," he nodded. "They know we're loyal to the fatherland, and we shall prove that loyalty ten times over, as any Warrior would. The Generalmajor knows us, and our worth to Marley."
"I'll drink to that," Marcel saluted, raising his drink to his lips. "And all else aside, Zeke's fate is out of our hands. No need to go crying over spilt milk, I suppose."
This time, it was Porco who rased his drink high. "To the continued prosperity of the fatherland," he intoned. "To victory over the enemies of Marley. Ave!"
"Ave!" five voices replied, all filled with burning, patriotic vigour.
(And not, of course, because of the listening equipment no doubt hidden in the room.)
With that final salute, a more comfortable silence fell upon the Warriors once more, and her Pock took it as his que to pull Pieck closer. The woman let him do so with a smile, more than happy to bask in his body's warmth, even if only for a little while.
For all that everything around them was changing, what she shared with Porco was, at least, staying the same. She would cherish it until the day she died.
On a whim, Pieck turned her face towards the sunlight, spying Marcel as he glanced out of the nearby window, watching the arriving automobiles with dull curiosity - a curiosity that lasted for only a moment before he looked away. Kattean, from what she had heard from the locals, had been a busy place before the invasion, and its selection as a staging ground from which the counter-offensive would spring from had only made its streets busier.
(And, with the revelation of Zeke's parentage now made known, many, many high-profile guests had been arriving in droves to the city. The rumors as to why were… unsettling.
The way things were going… It was beginning to resemble the Rätin of c.807, and that in of itself boded ill.)
Then, abruptly, his head whipped back towards the window with such speed that Pieck was sure he'd nearly broken his neck. His sudden actions gained him the attention of everyone in the room, though he seemed none-the-wiser to it.
"That… that coat-of-arms…" their Vice-Kommandant breathed unbelievingly, pale-faced. "It can't be…"
No more words emerged from his throat, and, curious as to what had stunned their usually-calm Vizekommandeur so completely, the others all stood to join him at the window. And, when they did, they saw what had shocked him into silence.
A far cry from all the other automobiles of military make entering and exiting the fort's gated road, the one that had caught Marcel's eyes was obviously of a luxury brand - the kind that could beggar a small town to purchase. It was unlike any Pieck had ever seen, its metal chassis shining a sleek black in the sun. Certainly a sight to behold, the woman mused, but that did not explain what had stunned Marcel so utterly.
And then, as the motorcar parked in the shade and its occupants exited, Pieck caught sight of the sigil that had been hidden by the glare of the sun. She… recognized that symbol, didn't she? They was the arms of the-
Pieck stopped, blinked, and stared again.
…
Oh.
Oh, no.
So, this was it, then.
Everything he had done, all he had sacrificed, the plans he had made, had prepared to set into motion… all meant nothing, now.
All because of his mother, whom he had once betrayed.
There was, Zeke chuckled bitterly, a great irony to it. He had outed her to Marley all those years ago as a Restorationist, and in return, she had outed him as a man of Royal Blood.
Pulling at his chains once again, the holder of the Beast Titan sighed as he took in the drab surroundings. By his count, it had been somewhere around three days since he'd been thrown in here, and Zeke had the sneaking suspicion that he would see many more before release.
Despite his best efforts, the Oberkommando had not believed his... falsehoods, admittedly, of him being unaware of his lineage. Zeke had been very well aware - for all that his childhood memories of his parents were bitter, even more so, now, he remembered them well. He remembered the whispered arguments in the dead of night, the speeches his father would give on the importance of Eldia's revival, his mother's soft but stern reminders of his duties as a prince of royal blood and heir to a nation that had broken under its own weight a century beforehand-
Zeke had sneered at those memories, often, after he had secured his place in Marley. Eldia was long dead, he had told himself. Only the dregs remained, and even those grew fewer by the year. Udynel - Teufisfal, now - was a Marleyan city through-and-through, the old holy-sites razed thrice-over. The Ymir-cults had all been stamped out, their adherents Titanized or handed over to the Titan Biology Research Society to face even worse fates. His grandfather Basil was an embalmed, charred corpse hanging in an Internment Zone somewhere, his armies broken. The shattered remnants of the Morean lost ground every day, and those who remained did so only for unwilling usage in the Grand Armee's special mountain training. The Restorationists, the group his parents had placed their hopes and dreams in, had fallen by Zeke's hands, sentenced to eternal paradise.
And Paradis Island…
Paradis was a backwards land, penned in by Pure Titans, trapped behind their walls by the 145th Fritz King, memories of the outside erased. They were not, and never would be, a threat to the world ever again.
Or, at least, that is what it should have been.
And instead, he lamented, they've mustered enough strength behind them to attack and capture Liberio, invade Marley, and send delegates overseas.
That was one thing that continued to elude him. There was only two ways to de-Titanize an Eldian, ways that even he had never been able to recreate. The first would have meant passing on his Titan early, something no one had wanted. And the second…
The second way, the only true way to return a Pure Titan to its human form permanently, was with the power of the Coordinate. And, with how his mother, who HAD been Titanized, was now walking around as a human again, and all the reports of a second, female Titan at Liberio in contrast to the one who had infiltrated their ranks, Zeke could only conclude that the Founding Titan was in play.
So, why don't they use the Rumbling?
(And, if mother is alive…
Where is father?)
Countless times he had circled around the question. Why? What had possessed them to engage in conventional warfare, when they had a weapon that could end all wars? Was there a problem with the Coordinate? Was its holder unable to access its full power? Perhaps it was something to do with the Wall Titans themselves? What if-
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zeke brought that line of thought to a forced conclusion. "I really should stop," he muttered. "I'm not doing myself any good running around in circles, thinking about answers I will never have."
"I would not be so sure, Warchief. One can always be surprised by what a little bit of introspection can reveal."
Had he not been so wearied of it all, Zeke might have jolted at the sudden appearance of a new voice in his little, dark slice of the world. As it was, the bespectacled man only flinched slightly at the unexpected intrusion. It was not a voice he recognized, though, to begin with, he doubted many women had the authority to be down here - and that was most certainly not Kommandant Franzie's voice.
"So, Magath's finally decided what they want to do with me?" Zeje huffed, before chuckling morosely. "Took long enough."
"They have, yes," the voice - a woman's, he noted - acknowledged. He could barely see her, outlined only by the lantern she held in her hand. Magath had not seen to give him anything to brighten his stay, when he'd been thrown down here. "But the final decision on your fate has been moved to the highest levels of government. The Generalmajor no longer has the final sway. You are, after all, no longer of the Warrior Unit."
…That confirmation stung far more than it should have.
Of course he had been removed from the Unit - Theo Magath was anything but slow to take action - but to only be told now that the rank he had sacrificed to much to reach, had worked years to attain had been taken from him all due to the misfortune of his birth, something he'd NEVER had control of-
Calm, Zeke, he chided himself, slowly unclenching his fists. Anger would not help him here, not now. Thusly, Zeke took a quiet, calming breath, deciding to shift his focus elsewhere. And it was only then, after the last vestiges of anger had faded, that he truly digested the woman's words. "The highest levels…?" Zeke mumbled. Curious…
For all that the military dominated Marleyan politics, they did not see to the actual governing of the nation. That was left to the civilian government, the Chancellor's office. And, in all the years Zeke had been in the army, Chancellor Edel Freidrick had never interjected himself himself into matters of the Große Armee. Nor, if Zeke recalled correctly, had any chancellor before him. That the civilian government would involve itself in military affairs…
Something was afoot, Zeke could sense. What, he could not say, but he knew whatever it was lurked in the shadows before him. There, perhaps, the answers lay.
"So, you must have been sent from Osternau," the Shifter hummed, testing the waters. "You arrived quickly. The revelations of my origins aren't even a week old. Not here, anyways."
Still cloaked in shadow, the woman seemed to shrug. "I received word directly from overseas, and was thusly told to make contact with you. The Diet and the Oberkommando have very vested interests in you, Zeke Jaeger…"
As one would expect by now, Zeke acknowledged with a nod-
"...Which was why it was prudent for me to meet with you before anyone else could."
It took only a moment for Zeke to digest those words, before a cold wariness descended upon him. "You… weren't sent from Osternau, were you?"
"Down here?" The woman's voice had the slightest hint of mirth in it, but her eyes, in the lamp-light, glimmered an unsettling grey. "Not by the Diet, no. Not , I am upstairs, resting after a long journey, preparing to meet with Chancellor Freidrick, Oberbefehlshaber Calvi, and a combined council of both Diet and Oberkommando to discuss your fate come evening."
And now, more than anything, Zeke was painfully aware as to how vulnerable he was. The woman before him had admitted to little, but what little she had confirmed to him did not appeal to him. Setting asides the fact that boy the civilian and military governments were communing together upstairs on his fate (to which he held no illusions of - his would either be an early, painful death, or a half-life as a breeding stud), Zeke knew for a fact that the woman speaking to him was not supposed to be down here.
Which could mean one of several things, each worse than the last. Yet one in particular stood out to him, made sense to him.
It was a chuckle, at first, that escaped his lips, before it evolved into a bitter laugh. WHen it finally died down, Zeke turned away from the woman outside his cell and stared towards the ceiling. So, this is how it ends? Murded in the bowls of fortress denied the dignity of dying beneath the sky.
"Tell me," he pondered, "was it my mother that put you up to this? It makes sense, I supposed. I destroyed her life's work, condemned her and the man she loved to a living hell. A more complete betrayal a son could never commit. It only makes sense that someone would be sent to kill me."
The stranger was silent for some time, seemingly content to stare at him, and Zeke felt his frustration rise to a boiling point. Here he was, was he not? Defenless, weak! To transform so far underground would kill him regardless, assuming the command even registered. And, even had he wanted to, Magath had taken measures to ensure he could not. His two missing hands were evidence of that.
All the woman would need to do was enter the cell and kill him.
But, she did not.
What she did instead was take one step forward, and break the silence.
"The outcome of this conversation," the stranger spoke, "depends on how you answer a question. A decade and some you've served Marley loyally as the Beast. Even as a child your loyalty was known. Yet, despite that, you kept from the fatherland a secret so great that all the Diet converges above us to discuss it. A secret that might have greatly aided this nation you've served so faithfully. But, you kept it hidden. Why?"
In the darkness, the woman leaned forward, grey eyes narrowed. "What, exactly, scion of Fritz," she glared, "was your goal in all this?"
…
Zeke considered telling another falsehood. It came to him naturally, these days - he had told many before, and had planned to tell even more. That asides, he owed this woman nothing, especially if his mother had sent her.
What was the point of lying? He was a dead man walking. The largest secret he had was splayed out for all the world to see, his plans rendered to tatters. In all likelihood, the Volunteers he had so meticulously gathered to his cause would disband to the winds, Yelena unable to keep them unified.
All his life's work, undone in a day.
The weariness of the the realisation sank into his bones, and Zeke Jaeger realized that, regardless if he cared or not, it was over for him.
That thought came with a strange sort of peace to it. No more lies, no more deceit, no more plans. Just him, the stranger, and words he had longed to release on another for many, many years.
So, he did.
"You know Eldia's history," he started, not waiting for an answer. "Two millennia of violence and destruction, spearheaded by the Fritz Kings' Titans, and for what? Where is the Old Empire today?
Dead, would be the answer most would give - and to that, I'd say to you, 'look around you and see! Here is the Eldian Empire, alive and well.' Eldians make up the bulk of the fatherland's armies. Titans still stand over ashen fields. What, exactly, has changed in the last century? Far less than most think. And it all circles back to us."
This was the truth he had realized so long ago from Xavier, the truth that all the world sought to ignore.
The Old Empire was alive and well, and it was called Marley.
He had sat up, Zeke abruptly realized. For a moment, a fire had been lit within him, a flame he had once tended to diligently. But, as swiftly as it had arisen, it flame dimmed once more - and with its receding, his woes returned, as they always did.
"So long as the Subjects of Ymir endure, the suffering of the world will never end," he lamented. "Only if we were to disappear would the cycle end. To seize the Coordinate, to enact that dream, to end this, once and for all. Clean, quick, and painless. A swift sterilisation of the entire race, killing the husk of Eldia in its crib. That… that was my goal."
If all had gone well, the Eldian race would have been able to die out by the end of the century. Perhaps peacefully, perhaps not. As much as he would prefer the former, if the latter was what it took to end the wretched cycle humanity had been trapped in for the last two-millennia, then… was it not his responsibility to prosecute it with all his might? As the last son of a cursed, bedevilled dynasty, was that not his mantle to uphold?
Was it not his duty, to end the suffering of his people?
…Heh. Perhaps he had taken his parents' speeches to heart, in the end.
"I've known of many lofty ambitions, in my years of living," came a quiet murmur, "but I've yet to have heard of any such as yours."
He had almost forgotten about the stranger, Zeke thought mirthfully. Aah, but it had been more than satisfying to finally vent his frustrations of the world to someone asides from Yelena. That he would not see her again… saddened him, the Beast discovered to his surprise.
"Well, then?" he asked, "are you satisfied?"
Her answer came in the form of silence, then the brightening of the lamp. Only then, finally, did the woman step into his line of sight, and Zeke's eyebrows raised. The newcomer carried herself as someone of noble pedigree would, and was certainly dressed as one, albeit more practically than some of the other outfits he had seen in his lifetime. And, that asides…
She looked… familiar. Zeke had seen this woman before, somewhere. But where…?
"You despair at the fate of the world, yet give in so easily?" she scoffed. Get up, Zeke Jaeger. You're work isn't over just yet."
The only reason Zeke did not question her on why his answer had been satisfactory was due to the fact that his mind was working overtime, hauling old memories from the depths for new perusal.
"You…" he murmured, eyes squinting in the sudden light. "I have seen you before. The parade six years ago, our victory over Ghoda… You were there. There, with…"
"My brother," the woman nodded. "Herr Wilhelm. You shook his hand, I believe. We shared a few words. And we shall share many more, I think, son of royal blood."
And, finally having adjusted to the light, Zeke's eyes caught the emblem woven into the woman's breast pocket, and, for the first time in a long time, his eyes widened in apprehension.
The fear only set in when the woman strode forward, grabbed the metal bars of his cell door, crystalized them, and shattered them in the span of a second.
Zeke knew who this was, but that was not what scared him so, no.
Zeke knew what she was, as well. She was not an assassin sent by Paradis. She was, arguably, an even worse omen. And, for it, the only son of Grisha and Dina Jaeger felt fear.
"Get up, Warchief," Lara Tybur commanded, and the holder of the Warhammer Titan held out a hand. "Let us bring about your dream."
A/N: *insert dehydrated ganondorf wake-up gif*
In the time it took me to finish this chapter, Attack on Titan finally ended. And, for all that I'm still not the biggest fan of the ending, the ride was a brilliant one, and I'm glad to have been on it. Almost as glad as I am to have FINALLY finished this chapter, yeesh. Had to beat the author part of my brain like an imigrant African child to get this out, but it's finally done.
Also, hey, there's Lara and the Warhammer. Bet some of you have been wondering where she was.
On that note, this should be the last we see of Mesonamericia and Oaho for the time being. My history buffs out there will pick up on its inspirations, but the Ba'ate'lo is very special to me. Again, for all my history buffs out there - take the Mfecane, sprinkle in a bit of the good ol' Maya doomsday theories, dial it to thirteen, and viola! A downward spiral for an entire continent that will definitly have no reprecussions in the future :)
The next chapter will either be the Diet meeting, Liberio again, or - at last - the reuniting of our two favorite monarchs! Stay tuned, everyone.