This story contains very strong language and sensitive subject matters such as mental illness, trauma, suicide, self-harm and abuse. Reader discretion is advised.
854
As the flames flickered, shadows danced along the dungeon walls, their shapes shifting with the fire's uneven rhythm. The dim light cast a warm glow on the soldier, highlighting her tense form. Her foot tapped restlessly against the cold stone floor, her leg bouncing with barely restrained anxiety. She was a member of the Military Police—fair-skinned, slender, with sharp light green eyes and short, wavy, champagne-colored hair. It was Hitch. She glanced at her pocket watch, her gaze shifting nervously between the slow-moving hands and the heavy wooden door ahead. The silence in the room felt oppressive, broken only by the quiet tick of her watch and the soft crackle of the fire. The tension was suffocating, her heart pounding in sync with the restless tapping of her foot. Any moment now, she'd have to step forward to one of the cold, iron-barred cages to take someone out—an old friend—for interrogation. A reality she never thought she'd face. And yet, here it was. The weight of it was suffocating.
The hands of the watch finally aligned with 9 AM. Hitch exhaled deeply, steadying herself. The moment had arrived. She opened the door and started down the hallway lined with empty cells, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The air grew heavier with each step, until she reached the last cell. There, on the narrow bed, sat a figure, her gaze fixed blankly on the ceiling. The girl was about Hitch's age, with shoulder-length dark blonde hair that framed her fair-skinned face and light blue eyes so washed out they nearly appeared gray. Her arched, slightly thick eyebrows added to the sharpness of her otherwise quiet expression, her full lips pressed in a thin line. She stared, but it was as though she wasn't seeing anything at all, lost in some distant place.
Hitch hesitated before clearing her throat. "Alina?" Her voice broke the silence, trembling only slightly as she pulled the keys from her pocket. "I gotta take you with me."
Alina slowly turned her head, her eyes settling on Hitch. She didn't speak, she didn't even nod. Just silence, a cold, wordless acknowledgment that lingered in the air. As the cell door creaked open, Hitch kept her eyes locked on Alina, bracing for any kind of reaction. Her grip tightened around the sling of her rifle, the weight of it grounding her in this uneasy silence. But Alina simply stood, her expression unreadable, and waited. No resistance, no words. Just quiet compliance.
Taking a breath, Hitch gestured for her to follow and led the way, guiding Alina through the dim corridors of the headquarters' underbelly in Mitras. Their footsteps echoed softly off the stone walls, the silence between never leaving. It wasn't a long walk, but it felt stretched, as though time itself had slowed in anticipation for what would come next. They soon arrived outside a small, bare room, two chairs positioned across from each other inside, separated by a simple table. Leaning against the wall near the entrance stood an officer, one of Hitch's superiors. His arms were crossed, a folder of documents gripped loosely in one hand. As they approached, he straightened, uncrossing his arms and locking his gaze on Hitch. His expression was as unreadable as ever, stern and impassive.
"I'll take it from here," he said, his voice firm, cutting through the tension in the air. He glanced briefly at Alina before nodding toward the room. "Take a seat."
Once again, Alina complied without protest, stepping into the room and quietly taking the seat furthest from the door. The officer sat across from her, exhaling sharply before tossing the stack of documents onto the table between them, the sound echoing in the sparse room.
"Alina Kinsky, twenty years old, Scout Regiment," he began, his voice steady but laced with contempt. "Enlisted in 847. Graduated as part of the 104th Cadet Corps. Ranked eighth in your class. You were present during the attack on Trost." He flipped through the papers, though it was clear he already knew everything by heart. "Your records state twenty-five confirmed solo Titan kills, nine unconfirmed, and twelve assisted, all in the span of a few months of service. Impressive numbers." He glanced up, his eyes narrowing. "And you're also tied to the deaths of four soldiers during the coup that dismantled the Old Government. No stranger to killing MPs, are you?"
Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers as he continued, his voice dropping in pitch. "You're facing charges of conspiracy and the murder of two Military Police officers. Make no mistake—when you're found guilty, and trust me, you will be—that's a guaranteed death sentence." His eyes bore into her, cold and unyielding. "If it were up to me, you'd already be dead. Frankly, the Scouts are more trouble than they're worth. But, unfortunately for me, someone higher up has other plans for you."
He leaned back slightly, a sneer creeping into his expression. "So, you better start talking. About everything."
The silence stretched. Alina didn't so much as flinch. Her eyes remained cast downward, locked on the table as if the officer wasn't even there. Not a word. Not a reaction. His frustration flared, visible in the tightening of his jaw, but he kept his composure—just barely. After what felt like an eternity, the officer finally broke the silence, his patience clearly wearing thin.
"Listen," he growled, his tone sharper now. "The only reason you're sitting here, instead of waiting for the noose, is because if you cooperate, you might just get your death sentence reduced to, well... actually staying alive." He leaned in slightly, the frustration seeping into his words. "You have this luxury because Nile himself appealed for it. In any other situation, you'd never get this chance. So unless you're eager to throw away the one shot you've got at avoiding a hanging, you better start telling me exactly what you and your little band of terrorists were planning."
Alina finally lifted her gaze, locking eyes with the officer for a long moment. Her stare was cold, calculating, yet resigned. After a few tense seconds, she spoke, her voice hoarse but clear, echoing in the quiet room.
"Fine."
The officer nodded, his eyes not leaving hers. "From the beginning," he said firmly. "Tell me everything."
Alina's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile before quickly turning neutral again. "From the beginning, huh? Alright."
847
Beneath the pristine azure morning sky, a hidden gem of nature lay nestled in a vast open field, encircled by rolling hills and dense forests. The cadets stood at the precipice of their new lives, their ambitions fueling the nervous energy that hummed in the air. This was the moment—the daunting initiation ritual that would mark the beginning of their transformation. The sun bathed them in its warm glow, as if promising a fresh start, a chance to rise above their past and step into the roles of soldiers. It was here that the hopeful trainees, destined to form the future 104th Training Corps, gathered. Standing in perfect formation, they turned their wide-eyed gazes toward the focal point of the field: their instructor, the formidable Commandant Keith Sadies. His tall, rugged figure towered over the cadets, his sharp eyes sweeping across them with a cold, unyielding intensity. His very presence exuded authority, an aura that commanded respect without a single word spoken.
The tension was suffocating, and though the cadets wore pristine uniforms, none could entirely mask the blend of anxiety and excitement surging within them.
When Sadies finally began the initiation, his voice boomed through the natural crater, a thunderous sound that echoed in the hearts of every trainee. "We shall now begin the enlistment ceremony for the 104th Training Corps!" His voice was a hammer striking the still air. "Unfortunately for you, I, Keith Sadies, have been assigned to be your instructor!"
Each word hit like a blunt force, his tone a clear declaration of the harsh reality they were about to face. The cadets stiffened at the reminder that their path forward would be anything but easy. Sadies had no intention of making this transition smooth or kind.
"I don't have the slightest intention to welcome you here! So straighten those spines, maggots!" Sadies barked, his voice cutting through the cadets like a whip. The line of trainees snapped to attention with even more precision, their postures stiff, faces taut with fear. Eyes wide, breaths shallow, they were locked onto their towering instructor as if their very survival depended on it. Sadies paced before them like a predator, his voice unyielding as it echoed across the field. "As you are now, you're all cattle with no purpose other than to become Titan fodder! Nothing more than that! But I…"
He paused his steps, turning to face the rows of cadets, his gaze fierce and unrelenting. "I will take you useless degenerates and make something useful out of you! I will drill all of our methods for fighting the Titans into your heads! And then, once you find yourself facing down a Titan three years from now, will you still find yourself to be prey?! Or will you be an honorable soldier, ready to give your life for the King?!"
His words swelled with intensity, his speech rising to a fever pitch. Each sentence was nothing but a hammer. "Maybe even perhaps a glorious killing machine, exterminating Titans every time you step outside these Walls that protect us?! You will decide for yourselves what you want to be!"
The cadets' expressions ranged from uncertainty to fierce determination, the weight of their instructor's words settling heavily on their shoulders. For some, doubt lingered in their eyes, but others, like Alina, remained resolute. She stood tall, her eyes fixed forward, unblinking. The whirlwind of his harsh speech swirled around her, but she did her best to stand unshaken. Her jaw clenched tight, hardened with resolve. She had come here to survive, after all, to fight, to become something more than she could ever be otherwise. No amount of verbal assault could shake her now. The path ahead was treacherous, but it was the one she chose for herself after what was considered a very rough life.
The initiation ceremony continued as Keith turned his attention to a nearby cadet in the first row, the piercing gaze landing on the unsuspecting recruit. He froze under the weight of the Commandant's scrutiny.
"You! Who the hell are you?!" Sadies demanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The cadet, feeling the full brunt of his intensity, quickly saluted him, shaking and stammering as he attempted to respond.
"Floch Forster, sir!"
Before Floch could fully comprehend the situation, Sadies's boot met his shin with a swift, punishing kick. The crack of the impact echoed across the training grounds, causing a few of the surrounding cadets to flinch. Though the strike wasn't particularly brutal, Floch crumpled instantly, knocked off balance by the unexpected pain.
Sadies loomed over him, his voice harsh and unrelenting. "If you aim to don the uniform, expect challenges far worse than this pathetic little kick, Forster! Now, on your feet, maggot!" he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "First row, TURN AROUND!"
The cadets obeyed instantly as Sadies's inspection began. One by one, recruits were plucked from their rows, each subjected to the relentless scrutiny that would break them down and mold them into soldiers: hardened, unflinching, and ready to face the Titans.
However, beneath the surface, most actually harbored quiet hopes of avoiding such a fate. For them, the allure of the Military Police's safety and comfort far outweighed the idea of risking their lives beyond the Walls. They even saw the Garrison as a preferable alternative to the front lines, especially if they failed to secure a spot in the Top Ten of their class. Still, under Sadies's unforgiving gaze, all those ambitions felt fragile and at his mercy. Dread etched itself onto their faces, their silent prayers rising with each footfall that brought the Commandant closer. His eyes never settled on any one of them for long, an intentional act of psychological warfare, and the uncertainty of who might be called next gnawed at their nerves, turning fear into a raw, palpable anxiety and a lot of sweating.
And yet, there were always a few—a select handful, actually—whose expressions stood out from the rest. In their eyes was something different: the gleam of steely determination. The Commandant, ever the keen observer, recognized their stare. It carried an unmistakable weight, the scars of lives already tempered by fire, molded by the chaos and devastation of two years prior, carrying no need to be rebuilt. They had already faced hell, and now, they sought to use the flames of their anger as a weapon.
Amidst the theatrics, two soldiers strolled casually along the training grounds, watching Sadies's inquisition. The spectacle was darkly mesmerizing, an ordeal they felt compelled to observe whenever the Southern Division's Commandant conducted his ruthless symphony of discipline. To them, it was like watching a master at work, sculpting these young trainees into future warriors.
Coming to a halt, Sadies pivoted to face the recruit positioned before him. She was an unassuming figure with long, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
"State your name, maggot!" The command boomed across the grounds, leaving no room for hesitation. The recruit, standing at attention, replied with a hint of nervousness in her voice.
"Christa Lenz, sir!"
The pair of soldiers continued their leisurely stroll just a few meters away from the assembled recruits. The older of the two, an officer, sporting glasses that added an air of authority, couldn't resist the urge to probe his subordinate. "It was like this when you were training too, right?"
The younger soldier nodded, the memories of his own initiation still vivid from a few short years ago. "Sure it was," he admitted. "But I never understood... what's the point in scaring the hell out of them?"
"SECOND ROW, TURN AROUND!" Keith exclaimed, his attention now shifting to the third row. His eyes roamed, searching for his next target, and it didn't take him long to zero in on the perfect victim, prompting him to halt in his tracks. The intense gaze fell upon a young boy who stood stiffly, staring straight ahead, the tension in his body betraying his nervousness.
When Keith spoke, his tone was strangely calm, almost a whisper. "Hey, maggot," he uttered, his voice dripping with quiet menace.
The boy snapped into a rigid posture. "Sir!" he answered, his voice sharp as he executed a perfect salute. It was exactly the kind of response Keith thrived on—an instinctive obedience under pressure.
"What's your name, maggot?!" Keith barked, his words slicing through the air.
"Armin Arlert of Shiganshina District, sir!" he replied, his voice steady despite the tension coursing through him. He stood firm, weathering the barrage as the Commandant loomed closer, his eyes narrowing with calculated intensity. Keith leaned in, his face inches away from Armin's.
"Is that right?! What a dumb name! Did your parents really give it to you?!" he roared back, the question more of an insult than an inquiry.
"My grandfather did, sir!" Armin responded, his resolve solid despite the verbal assault.
From the fourth row, Alina watched the scene unfold with growing unease. She'd seen this kind of Military posturing before, the exaggerated theatrics designed to break a person's spirit. But despite knowing the routine, the Commandant's booming voice carried a weight that felt all too personal, as though each insult would be meant for her. Her heart pounded as she tried to maintain her outward calm, her fists slowly clenching at her sides, knuckles white from the tension. Her thoughts raced, wondering if her turn would come next, and how she would hold up under that unforgiving scrutiny. Would her composure falter? She had been through plenty, yet there was something unnerving about being put under this kind of spotlight. The pressure was suffocating.
Keith, having finished his brutal interrogation of Armin, turned his attention back to the rest of the group. "THIRD ROW, TURN AROUND!" His relentless voice echoed through the field like the toll of a bell.
And then, as if somehow hearing her thoughts, his eyes fell squarely on Alina. For a moment, time seemed to slow, her heartbeat drowning out the world around her. He advanced toward her with deliberate steps, and she tried to prepare for whatever was about to come.
Commandant Sadies halted in front of Alina, his looming shadow casting her in darkness. His cold eyes bore into hers, dissecting her in that suffocating silence that stretched between them, the weight of his presence pressing down on her shoulders. Alina kept her eyes trained on his collarbone, resisting the impulse to flinch. She awaited his words like a ticking bomb, knowing they were coming. When he finally spoke, it was with all the force of a thunderclap.
"What is your name and where do you come from, maggot?!" Sadies bellowed, the raw power of his voice rattling the bones of every recruit within earshot. Alina, her muscles tensing instinctively, saluted with precision and responded as quickly as her voice could carry.
"Alina Kinsky of Quinta District, sir!" she answered, fighting to keep her tone even, though her heart nearly leapt out of her mouth. But the Commandant didn't respond immediately. A frown tugged at his features, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed what she had said. Quinta? Did he hear that right? The name rang a bell, a faint memory rising from the depths of buried reports and long-forgotten horrors. His eyes narrowed.
"Say that again, maggot!" he demanded, leaning in slightly, a challenge in his tone needing confirmation.
"ALINA KINSKY OF QUINTA DISTRICT, SIR!" she shouted back with more force this time, her voice ringing out louder than before, though a flicker of doubt quickly crossed her mind—had she been too loud? Crap.
Sadies straightened, the name now registering fully. "Quinta, you say?!"
Quinta. Everyone in the Military had heard of it, though the true story had been buried under layers of more immediate tragedies—overshadowed by the aftermath of the fall of Wall Maria. To the public, it was just another part of the tragedy of the endless Titan onslaught. But for those in the know, survivors and soldiers alike, it was a scar that ran much deeper.
Sadies's eyes flickered with recognition as the memories of those reports came back to him. His gaze bore down on her, searching for something beneath her composed surface, something more than just another recruit.
As if understanding that, Alina replied. "Sir, yes, sir! Quinta is my hometown, where I was also raised in!" She affirmed, her voice steady as she stood her ground. There was no flinch, no hesitation. Her words carried the weight of someone who had lived through a hell not only of Titan, but also of human creation. It wasn't just a place she came from—it was where she had been shaped, and Sadies could see it now in the way she stood, in the way her voice didn't waver despite the pressure and the visible anxiety in her body language.
The Commandant's silence lingered for a moment, a rare flicker of thought passing through his stern demeanor. For a brief second, Alina felt as though her past was laid bare, exposed under the brutal light of his gaze. But just as quickly as it had come, it passed, his expression hardening once more. "Well, Kinsky, what you're about to live will make Quinta look like a vacation!" He barked, the edge in his voice returning. "You better get a grip or you'll end up just like your home—swallowed by failure!"
With a firm grip on Alina's head, Keith spun her around, the sharp motion snapping her back to attention. "Fourth row, TURN AROUND!" His command rang out, cold and authoritative, the sharpness of it forcing her to comply.
As Keith moved on to the next row, an unsettling sensation twisted in Alina's stomach. The way he had spoken of Quinta—unpacking a history she had buried deep—gnawed at her, stirring memories she'd spent so long trying to ignore and forget. The violence, the chaos, the isolation. The Titans, the soldiers. It all came rushing back, lingering in the corners of her mind, threatening to pull her under again. She felt a sickening knot in her chest, the anxiety creeping up on her like a shadow she couldn't outrun. She should have distrusted the Military, should have turned her back on them and survived another way, even if that meant sticking to living as a common thief, picking pockets in the dark alleys of the districts, looting merchants and entering homes. Anything, anything but this. And yet, here she was, enlisted, standing among strangers, ready to die, not really caring about it in the slightest. Was this truly the only way to find purpose? Was throwing her life away in service to a cause that had left her city to rot the answer?
She had the answer, though, didn't she? It was simple, obvious. A matter of survival. In the end, she hadn't been given many options, and perhaps, on some level, she hadn't really been looking for them either. Maybe it wasn't even about finding answers. Maybe it was just about staying alive, about doing whatever it took to keep the ghosts at bay and the fear from clawing at her insides. No, it was more than that. She remembers it. It hadn't been all that long since she heard the stories the man told her, she couldn't have forgotten it. His tales, his passion, the flames in his eyes. His hatred against them.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Keith's voice boomed across the training grounds once more, his interrogation now fixed on a young man in the next row.
"Jean Kirstein from Trost District, sir!" The boy's voice rang out with surprising clarity and serenity, his words an unexpected contrast to how the others had replied so far.
Keith's gaze sharpened, and his next question cut through the air like a whip. "What did you come here for?!"
Jean hesitated for only a moment before replying, his tone steady, too composed for someone standing in this situation. "To get into the Military Police brigade..." Jean began, surprising everyone with the calmness in his voice. "... And live in the interior, sir."
Jean's response sparked a subtle ripple of curiosity among the other recruits, drawing sideways glances from several of them, particularly from a boy with beautiful teal-green eyes. Keith paused, his lips curling into a reassuring smile. "I see! You want to go to the interior, do you?"
Keith's voice was warm, laced with a sense of support that could lull a recruit into believing they'd earned a modicum of favor. Jean, unaware, took the bait, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.
"Yes, sir!" He responded, his faint smile betraying the hope that perhaps, for once, he wasn't just another recruit being broken down for sport. Keith, however, wasn't done. Without warning, his smile twisted into something more dangerous. In one swift motion, Keith delivered a brutal headbutt to Jean's skull, the sickening crack of impact echoing through the training grounds. Jean crumpled to the dirt, the wind knocked out of him. Keith stood over him, unphased, his face returning to its usual mask of contempt.
"Hey!" Keith barked, his voice a sharp command. "Who gave you permission to sit down?!" Jean, still on the ground, gasped for breath, his world spinning. Keith's voice turned mocking, dripping with sarcasm, though still carrying its authority. "You think someone who crumbles from a mere headbutt will cut it in the MPB?!"
Sadies's attention shifted abruptly, his eyes zeroing in on the faintest sound—a nervous breath from a recruit on the edge of the row. His expression darkened, the shift from amusement to predatory focus instantaneous. He lunged forward, like a serpent ready to strike. "What's your name, maggot?!" Keith's voice erupted, inches from the recruit's ear, nearly deafening him with the force of the command. A bead of sweat trickled down the boy's face as he stammered to answer.
"Marco Bodt, Town of Jinae, southern Wall Rose, sir!" Marco spat out his details in a rush, hoping to avoid the worst of Keith's ire. But it wasn't enough to pacify the Commandant, who wasn't done.
"WHAT'D YOU COME HERE FOR?!" Keith shouted again, the words laced with venom, shaking the very ground beneath Marco's feet. The world seemed to slow down for the recruit, his thoughts scrambling for a way to respond, knowing full well the gravity of the moment. In his mind, Marco played out his options. The pressure mounted as he remembered Armin's earlier rebuke and the brutal treatment Jean had just endured. In fact, Jean was still struggling to regain his footing, the boy's situation being a stark reminder of what awaited Marco if he failed to meet Keith's impossible expectations. His survival instinct kicked in, and he realized what the only viable answer was.
"To join the Military Police Brigade and dedicate myself to the King, sir!" Marco blurted out, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. A soft, proud smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He had played it right, at least in his mind. No lazy, self-serving answers here. He wouldn't be seen as weak, a parasite. Instead, his dedication to the King would be seen as a positive.
Keith's gaze remained unreadable as he pulled away from Marco, his presence heavy in the space between them.
"I see..." he said, the words almost sounding like approval, a surprising shift in tone. "That's just fine. A commendable goal, I'll tell you."
However, immediately after, Keith leaned in, his face uncomfortably close to Marco's ear. "Except," he whispered, his voice a dangerous low, "I'm positive the King's got no interest in your scrawny body."
Marco's expression faltered as the full weight of Keith's words landed. His pride quickly crumbled into disbelief, his eyes widening as he processed the chilling dismissal. He stood frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away as Keith turned his attention to the next recruit, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Once again, Keith's voice broke the stillness with its usual brutal force. "You, maggot! Who're you?!" His tone was sharp, demanding.
"Conny Springer, sir!" Conny responded immediately, saluting with his left arm, his eyes squeezed shut in preparation for whatever punishment was coming his way. But the moment was far from routine.
Keith's eyes flicked over to Conny's hand, locking onto the glaring mistake in his salute. In a flash, Keith had Conny's head in his grip, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. The speed and strength of the move left Conny's feet dangling, his body unable to resist. Keith held him aloft like a puppet, his face contorted into something primal, a feral snarl that sent chills down the spines of the other recruits.
"You've got it backward, Conny Springer..." Keith's voice was low, menacing, his breath hot against Conny's skin, sending waves of fear through the recruit. "I know they taught you at the start... the salute indicates your dedication to serve the common good, heart and soul!"
He let the words linger for a moment, thick with disdain before continuing, his tone dripping with passive-aggressive mockery. "Is your heart on your right side, Conny?"
Conny's mouth opened in an attempt to speak, but no words came out, the pressure in his head tightening as Keith held him there. Every inch of his body screamed to be free, but the Commandant's grip rendered him powerless. That was when something unusual caught Keith's attention. There, in the corner of his peripheral vision, a strange figure stood out. His gaze snapped to the source, his eyes narrowing as he saw her, and a low growl of disbelief escaped his throat.
A girl, seemingly oblivious to the entire storm unfolding around her, was casually munching on a steamed potato. The sound of her chewing echoed lightly in the now quiet air, a completely absurd sight. The Commandant's gaze locked on her, his jaw tightening as the realization set in. He let go of Conny, the boy falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and he slowly began to make his way toward the girl.
As evening descended, the warm, amber glow of the setting sun bathed the grounds, casting long shadows that stretched across the earth. Sasha's breath came in ragged gasps, each step a battle against her own exhaustion. The strain was clear—her legs felt like lead, and every fiber of her body screamed for rest. But there was no stopping now. She had no choice but to keep pushing forward. This was the price of defiance, of eating a potato in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then still answering back to Sadies.
From the porch of the mess hall, the other recruits watched her with a mix of fascination and sympathy as they made their way into the building for dinner. Some lingered, unable to look away from her hours-long struggle.
"Hey..." Conny said, pausing at the wooden railing with a raised brow. "The Commandant still has that potato girl running."
Marco leaned casually against the railing and also found his gaze locked on Sasha, his expression softened by an unspoken understanding. He couldn't help but empathize, imagining it could've just as easily been him if he'd slipped up the way she had. Eren, the teal-green eyes recruit who had been bypassed by Sadies, glanced up at the distant figure, his gaze narrowing in surprise.
"Wow," Eren muttered, watching Sasha with a mix of disbelief and concern. "She's been going at it for five hours straight now."
"Still," Marco added, "the look on her face when he told her to run 'til she was almost dead was nothing compared to her anguished look the moment he said she doesn't get to eat today."
As Mina, Armin, and Alina joined the trio, Conny couldn't help himself. He leaned in, his voice low as he speculated. "She said she's from Dauper... if memory serves, that's a hunting village with a small population, deep in the mountains."
"Come to think of it," Marco said, his thoughts drifting as he turned his attention to Eren. "I didn't hear where you are from. Where did you live?"
Eren gave Armin's shoulder a light, affectionate tap before answering. "Shiganshina District, same as him. Then we moved to a refugee settlement and stayed there until we turned twelve and enlisted."
"Really?" Marco's voice was tinged with disbelief, but also a trace of nervousness. Conny, on the other hand, was practically bouncing with excitement. "Then you must have been there that day, right?!"
Alina, who had been quiet until now, felt a chill run through her at the mention of that day. She had seen the Titans firsthand—the devastation they caused, the chaos they unleashed. But she couldn't even begin to fathom the horror at the heart of it all, at ground zero, where the largest concentration of Titans was, and where the illusive "Colossal Titan" had been seen.
"There's no way," she interjected with a whisper. The others turned to her, curious. "Is it true? Is the Colossal Titan actually real?" Her voice cut louder through the ambient noise, her question laced with disbelief.
Eren nodded solemnly. "Yeah. The Colossal showed up out of nowhere... and disappeared just as fast. It took out the outer gate with a single kick, like it was nothing."
"Wasn't he, like, sixty meters tall?" Conny chimed in, bewildered. "How does something that big just 'show up' without anyone noticing? And then vanish like that? How come the Scout Regiment never saw it before? That's insane."
Eren shrugged, his expression mirroring the confusion shared by the others. "We don't know either. No one knows how it was possible. But I can tell you... the Colossal... it's something else. Beyond anything from this world."
Word of Eren's story spread like wildfire, and soon enough, a buzz filled the mess hall as more recruits filtered in. It wasn't long before a crowd began forming around him, eager for details. Eren, though, remained casual, calmly recounting the events of that terrifying day while he ate, his plate barely touched. Alina, now seated beside Jean, kept her attention on her meal, though her ears were tuned to the excited chatter just a few meters away.
"How big was it?! I heard it stepped over the Wall!" voices clamored, overlapping with a mix of excitement and fear. "That's what my village said too!" echoed another.
Jean took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze locked onto Eren from the adjacent table, irritation building with each passing moment. He couldn't stand the smug, self-assured way Eren carried himself, like some cocky wannabe hero soaking up the attention.
Then, amid the din of questions, one voice pierced through: "What about the Armored Titan? The one that broke through Wall Maria?"
Eren paused for a moment, meeting the curious eyes around him before responding, shrugging. "I saw it too. They call it the 'Armored Titan,' but honestly..." He leaned back, his voice steady, "it just looked like a regular Titan to me."
"Wow," Alina muttered under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she kept looking at her food, though her voice sounded slightly entertained. "That's wild."
Jean, however, was at his limit. He slammed his drink down on the table, the sharp thud cutting through the chatter around them. Alina and a boy seated across from them flinched at the sudden sound, eyes snapping toward Jean.
"What a load of bullshit," Jean seethed, his voice dripping with irritation. "He acts so nonchalant, like none of it even matters."
The boy across from them, tall and lanky, leaned forward, trying to diffuse the tension. "Take it easy," he said cautiously. "He's just soaking up the attention right now. People will lose interest soon enough. No point getting worked up over it."
"Yeah," Alina added, nodding. "Lanky boy's got a point. It's not like Eren said anything offensive or whatever."
"'Lanky boy?'" The boy stammered, a blush creeping up his neck as he froze like a dog, clearly nervous. "M-my name's Bertholdt! B-but... yeah... he didn't really say anything bad."
Before they could say anything else, Eren's voice suddenly rang out, seizing everyone's attention. "The Titans are no big deal!"
The bold declaration caught everyone off guard. Bertholdt choked on his own spit, eyes wide as Eren stood confidently, a grin pulling at his lips. Alina raised an eyebrow, intrigued but unsure of where this was going.
"If we master the ODM gear," Eren continued, his gaze forward as he kept his grin, "they'll be no match for us! I'm done picking up stones and pulling weeds. I'm joining the Scout Regiment to wipe the Titans off the face of this earth. I'll kill them all—"
Jean scoffed loudly, unable to hold back his disbelief any longer. "Hey, hey, hey. Are you nuts?" He leaned forward, resting his cheek lazily on his hand as he gave Eren a mocking, incredulous look. It was as if his last words were enough for Jean to piece everything together. "Did you just say you're joining the Scouts?"
Eren turned, locking eyes with Jean. "Yeah, I did." Jean's smirk widened as realization suddenly hit Eren. "Wait, you're the guy who wants the cushy life in the Military Police, right?"
Without missing a beat, Jean leaned forward, his tone dripping with smugness. "That's right. And I'm no liar. I say it like it is. Unlike someone pretending to have balls of steel while close to pissing themselves."
Alina had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud, the sharp exchange catching her off guard. She glanced over at Bertholdt, who was still coughing after choking, and covered her mouth, barely holding it together.
"This," she whispered with a grin, giving the rising conflict a side glance, "is funny."
Eren stood abruptly, locking eyes with Jean, irritation simmering in his gaze as he looked down at the other boy. "Are you talking about me?"
Before things could escalate, one of the recruits standing nearby, sensing the tension, gestured to Eren nervously. "D-don't!" they urged, trying to diffuse the situation before it spiraled out of control. But Jean only shook his head, unbothered.
"Hey, I didn't mention you," Jean said casually while standing up, his cocky grin never wavering. He took a handful of deliberate steps toward Eren. Eren mirrored him, the two meeting in the middle, their stances rigid. Jean, a bit taller, loomed over Eren slightly, but the height difference did nothing to shake Eren's resolve. His eyes burned with fierceness.
Just when it seemed a fight might break out, the deep, resonating chime of the tower bells rang out across the grounds, echoing through the air and putting an abrupt end to the brewing confrontation. The timing was almost too perfect, like the bells themselves had intervened, sensing the need to pull the recruits back from the edge.
The tension lingered for a moment longer before the crowd around them began to disperse, the recruits setting down their plates and making their way out of the mess hall. Jean relaxed his posture, leaning slightly toward Eren.
"Well, I'm sorry," Jean said, though his tone carried the barest hint of mockery. "I didn't mean to say you're doing the wrong thing." He extended his hand, offering it to Eren in an exaggerated show of peace. "Peace?"
Eren's expression softened, though the annoyance hadn't fully left his features. "Yeah, I'm sorry too," he replied, giving Jean a quick, dismissive high five before turning on his heel and heading for the door.
Jean smirked to himself as he watched Eren walk away, the tension fading. But before he could relish the moment, something unexpected happened. A cascade of long, obsidian-black hair swept into his view, and Jean froze, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. The girl's striking features were framed perfectly by her dark hair, and her almond-shaped eyes held an enigmatic, almost piercing quality that sent his mind reeling. His face flushed against his will, and he found himself blurting out, "Hey, y-you!" without fully thinking it through.
Meanwhile, Alina sighed, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over her. "Guess we aren't having a fight on our first day," she muttered to Bertholdt, pushing herself up from her seat. "Come on, lanky boy. Time to go."
"It's Bertholdt," he corrected, standing as well, his voice tinged with the same nervousness as before. Despite his annoyance, he trailed behind Alina as they exited the mess hall and began walking through the training grounds.
They walked in silence for a few moments before Bertholdt hesitantly broke it, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "So... you're the girl from Quinta, right?"
Alina kept her gaze forward, her expression unreadable, her pace steady. "Yeah. That's me."
His eyes lingered on her, filled with a mix of pity and curiosity, trying to bring himself to say more. Alina, on the other hand, seemed far too used to this kind of small talk.
"I'm from a village in the mountains to the southeast," Bertholdt added, his voice soft, as if testing the waters for some kind of connection. "Southeast of Wall Maria, that is. I heard what happened in Quinta. The news took a while to reach my village too. It wasn't as bad for us as it was for you, but... yeah."
Alina kept her eyes fixed ahead, her expression distant. After a moment, she gave a small nod, her voice quiet and soft. "I'm sorry. I hope you didn't lose anyone important."
Bertholdt swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat as a familiar wave of grief washed over him. A specific face flashed in his mind, the memory of a death that had haunted him ever since. "I... did, actually," he admitted, his tone more fragile than he intended.
Alina's gaze softened slightly, though she didn't look at him. "That's awful," she murmured, her sympathy genuine. "I'm sorry. Losing people like that, it never feels real. Honestly, though, the Titans weren't even the worst part about Quinta."
Bertholdt's brow furrowed in confusion. "They weren't?"
Alina finally glanced at him, her eyes hardening as old memories flickered across her features. "No," she said, her voice low and bitter. "It was the Garrison."
The official version of the story was watered down, palatable to the public's ears: a district cut off during the chaos, a delayed evacuation, and a tragic loss. But what truly happened... that was a darker tale, whispered among the ranks and written in classified documents.
When Wall Maria fell, Quinta had been left in the dark, its remote location behind a chain of mountains shielding it at first from the full scale of the disaster. Chaos reigned, and by the time evacuation orders reached them, it was too late for most. The wealthy and influential quickly escaped, leaving the common folk to face the consequences of bureaucratic neglect. The rest, trapped and desperate, followed a last minute mass evacuation that was aborted halfway through, resulting in catasthropic loss of lives and a return to the city. Under the command of Rita Iglehaut from the Garrison, the district sealed itself off, martial law taking over. Six months of isolation bred desperation, and under Rita's decaying mental state, Quinta transformed from anarchy into a dictatorship. She declared the district independent of the Royal Government, a bold, doomed move that only served to feed her brutality, a captured Titan being used to publicly execute anyone who dared commit the pettiest of crimes. But no amount of brutality stopped the Titans from coming for them too. When the walls of Quinta were breached from above by Titans that somehow climbed on top of Wall Maria, chaos returned. A two-days long hasty evacuation saved those who could be saved, using a nearby forest of giant trees as cover during the day, and moving toward the Krolva District at night, while the Garrison soldiers battled the Titans as hard as they could; the unlucky ones, their lives and their stories, were all lost beneath the rubble of a city that had descended into violence and despair.
"It must have been really rough. Martial law and all," Bertholdt replied, his tone laced with sympathy, trying to imagine the hardship Alina must have endured. But his attempt at empathy was met with a scoff.
"Rough is putting it lightly," Alina muttered, her voice edged with bitterness. "You have no idea how deep the shit was, there."
Before Bertholdt could say more, they arrived at the point where their paths diverged, signaling the end of their conversation. They both stopped in their tracks, and Alina turned to face him and, with a casual air, extended her hand.
"Nice meeting you, Bert," she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. "See? Didn't call you lanky boy this time."
Bertholdt couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head with a grin. "Nice meeting you too. And... it's Alina, right?"
"Yup. You got it right," she confirmed, her voice light, offering her hand again. This time, Bertholdt took it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake.
"See you around tomorrow?" he asked, his tone warm and friendly, the bond between them feeling a little more solid now.
"Hell yeah," Alina replied with a playful gleam in her eye. "I wanna see how well you can handle ODM gear with those long-ass limbs of yours."
Bertholdt groaned, his face flushing a deep red as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Comments about him, whether his appearance or his personality, always got to him a little bit too easily. "Stop saying stuff like that..."
"Yeah, yeah," she waved him off with a chuckle before turning on her heel and heading toward her barracks. As she walked away, Bertholdt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder once more before continuing on his way, feeling strangely lighter despite the teasing.
As Alina walked down the wooden hallway of her barracks, her mind wandered back to the day's events. The adrenaline from the initiation's yelling and grueling intimidation from Keith had mostly worn off, leaving her in a calmer state. She felt a flicker of contentment, reflecting on her unexpectedly pleasant—albeit awkward—bonding with Bertholdt. It was a small moment of connection, sure, but it reassured her. Made her feel less alone, and most importantly, made her feel confident in actually making friends. She knew the road ahead wouldn't get any easier, but after surviving so much worse, she was certain she could handle whatever training threw at her next.
She eventually entered her assigned room, identical to the others the cadets would call home for the next three years. Rows of bunk beds lined both walls, the room neatly organized with wooden lockers at the far end for personal belongings. A handful of her roommates were already inside, either chatting, sitting on their beds, changing clothes, or rummaging through their lockers.
But one person in particular caught Alina's attention.
Sitting on a lower bunk was a girl with long, obsidian-black hair, her expression eerily blank. A towel lay in her lap, and in one hand, she held a pair of scissors, poised as if about to cut her hair without a second thought. Her other hand gripped a handful of her dark locks, ready to shear them off with no care for precision.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Alina exclaimed, her voice sharp with concern as she quickly approached. "What are you doing?" Her surprise was genuine, her brow furrowed.
The girl looked up at her, face still stoic, though Alina thought she noticed the faintest blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Cutting my hair," she responded bluntly, though there was an underlying tension to her words. Alina raised an eyebrow. The girl's features were striking, her high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and soft pale skin immediately stood out. Alina had heard whispers about an ethnic minority called the "Orientals," and this girl seemed to belong to that elusive group.
"Yeah, I can see that," Alina scoffed lightly, shaking her head. "But like this? Blindly? No mirror, nothing?" She tilted her head, sizing the girl up. "Have you ever cut your hair before?"
The girl's gaze faltered, though her face remained unchanged. "No. Not on my own," she admitted quietly.
"Well, don't just... do that," Alina chided gently. "It's gonna look awful if you cut it like that."
For a moment, Alina hesitated. She didn't know this girl at all, but something about her blank expression struck a chord. After a beat, she stepped closer. "Want me to cut it for you?"
The girl's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. Her dark eyes met Alina's again, curiosity flickering behind them. "You'd... do that for me?" she asked, her voice holding a subtle hint of surprise, as if kindness was something she wasn't used to.
Alina shrugged, offering a small, easygoing smile. "Yeah, yeah, sure. It'll look a hell of a lot better than if you tried doing it yourself."
For the first time, the girl's stoic facade cracked just slightly, her lips twitching upward into the faintest smile. "Okay then."
Sitting behind the girl, Alina crossed her legs and gently began brushing the girl's silky, straight hair. Each stroke was careful, ensuring the strands were completely untangled before she'd start cutting. The room was filled with the chatter of the other cadets, but the two girls remained in silence—until, surprisingly, the girl initiated small talk.
"You're Alina. Right?" She asked, her voice direct but soft. Her head stayed steady, eyes cast downward at the floor in front of her as Alina continued to brush her hair.
"Uhhh... yeah." Alina replied, a little caught off guard. She let out an awkward chuckle. "You remember my name? So far, I've only been called 'the Quinta girl.'"
"I do," the girl responded, her tone just as awkward as Alina's laugh. "I was standing pretty close to you."
"Oh. I see," Alina murmured, brushing another section of hair. The silence resumed briefly before Alina broke it again. "And your name?"
"Mikasa," the girl answered, her voice a bit quieter now.
Alina hummed softly to herself, letting the name settle on her tongue. "Mikasa..." she echoed, testing the sound of it. "It's a pretty name. And it suits you." Mikasa blinked, visibly taken aback by the unexpected compliment.
"Suits... me? You think so?" she asked, her tone shifting slightly, like she was processing a foreign concept.
Alina grinned as she ran her fingers through Mikasa's hair one final time before she grabbed the scissors. "You're not used to this, are you?"
Mikasa's brows knitted slightly. "This what?"
"You know… getting compliments, I guess," Alina clarified, her grin widening as she took Mikasa's reactions.
"...No. Not really," Mikasa admitted after a beat, her voice as calm as ever, but with a hint of something deeper—perhaps a distant melancholy that even she wasn't aware of.
"So you've always been shy?" Alina asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"Huh? No, I'm not shy, I just... don't really know how to react to these comments," Mikasa answered, her tone surprisingly sincere.
"Okay, okay. I get it," Alina said, backing off gently, realizing Mikasa wasn't the shy type, just... reserved. Still, all things considered, she was warming up surprisingly well to a complete stranger.
And with that, Alina closed the scissors on the first strand of Mikasa's hair, watching it fall gently to the towel below. There was a quiet satisfaction in the motion as she worked.
"What's your story, Mikasa?" Alina asked after a beat, her voice casual, yet genuinely interested.
"I'm from Shiganshina," Mikasa replied, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
"Shiganshina?" Alina echoed, raising her eyebrows. "Like the boy from dinner and his friend?"
"You mean Eren and Armin? Yes," Mikasa confirmed, her voice softening a bit. "They're my friends, actually."
"Ooooh, I see. A little trio... that's interesting." Alina said as she trimmed another section of hair. "I never had something like that. A close group of friends, I mean."
There was a momentary pause between them, filled only by the quiet snip of the scissors. Mikasa's eyes stayed focused ahead, reflecting something distant, while Alina kept glancing at her, silently intrigued by her calm demeanor. It was strange, but Alina felt like there was more to Mikasa, something beyond the stoic front. Something deeper, just under the surface.
"Have you lost your parents?" Mikasa suddenly asked, her voice echoing softly between them. After a second, she seemed to realize she might have crossed a line. "... Sorry if that was too direct."
Alina paused, surprised at first, but shook her head, not really minding the question. "No, no, it's okay. Don't worry about it." She took a breath. "And yeah, I did. Actually... I barely even knew them."
"Oh?" Mikasa replied, her voice a bit more gentle.
"My father died before I was even born. He was a Scout. Died during a mission. And my mother... she got really sick when I was four and passed away."
Mikasa's face softened, though her expression didn't waver much. "Oh, that's... that's horrible. I'm sorry, Alina. I... lost my parents too."
"It's okay," Alina responded, her tone surprisingly even. "Can't really be that sad over the loss of people I can't remember. And I'm sorry for your loss. Shiganshina really was something else, huh?"
Mikasa's eyes grew darker as she glanced down slightly. "Oh, they didn't die in Shiganshina."
Alina paused mid-motion, tilting her head slightly. "No?"
"No, they... we used to live in the mountains. One day, some... pretty bad people showed up. They stabbed my father and tried to kidnap both my mom and me, but my mom fought back. They... they killed her. They wanted to sell us."
"Fuck..." Alina muttered under her breath, her fingers pausing for a beat. "Uh, sorry for the curse, but... damn, that's... tragic and shitty. How old were you? How did you escape something like that?"
"I was nine." Mikasa's voice was quiet, yet firm. "Eren's father was our family's doctor. He was visiting us that day. It was... luck that he arrived when he did, and he helped get the Military Police involved. After that... Eren and his family took me in. Eren gave me this scarf..."
Mikasa's hand instinctively reached for the red scarf wrapped around her neck, gently running her fingers along its worn fabric. It had clearly been through a lot, with visible patches and frayed edges. It was more than just an accessory; it was a lifeline to something, someone very, very dear to her.
"Guess you're lucky," Alina continued, her voice a little more wistful now. "Having people like that, I mean. Sounds like they mean a lot to you."
"I owe everything to Eren." Mikasa's grip on the scarf tightened slightly. "He saved my life."
There was a deep breath, followed by a soft sigh. Mikasa's shoulders seemed to relax, the weight of her past momentarily lifted. "It's funny. I don't talk about this to anyone, but... you make me comfortable. Thank you."
Alina continued trimming Mikasa's hair, her thoughts quietly drifting through everything Mikasa had shared. The way Mikasa spoke about Eren stirred something in her, a reminder of the one person who had come closest to being family to her after she'd lost her parents. He had taken her in when she was all alone, teaching her everything she knew, caring for her despite his own issues. He was gone now, lost in Quinta's failed evacuation. Alina had been pushing those memories aside, knowing that every connection she's ever understood as family had only led to more loss and loneliness.
After several minutes of quiet, Alina finally released Mikasa's hair and bit her lower lip thoughtfully before nodding to herself. "I think I'm done," she said, handing Mikasa a small handheld mirror she had borrowed from one of their roommates. "This is the length you were aiming for, right?"
Mikasa took the mirror, her eyes widening as she saw her reflection. Her once long, flowing hair was now cut just above her shoulders. The new length framed her face well, making her look more youthful but also sharpening her features in a way that gave her a sense of maturity. It suited her more than either of them probably expected.
"It... looks really good," Mikasa said softly, a touch of surprise in her voice as her hand gently brushed through her newly cut hair. "Thank you, Alina."
Alina smiled. "You're welcome, Mikasa. I'm glad you liked it, and I'm happy I could help."
Mikasa looked at her reflection, still seemingly processing the change. "What can I do for you? How can I repay this?"
Alina shook her head, smiling warmly. "No, it's fine. Don't worry about that. This was just a favor, okay? Nothing else. Just... well, I'd take you as a friend if you want to, though."
Mikasa glanced at her in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "A friend... yes. Sounds good to me."
For the first time since they had started talking, Mikasa smiled fully, warmly, and Alina could see it reflected in the mirror. It was subtle, but genuine, and it made Alina feel genuinely warm inside.
854
The officer leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and keeping his gaze fixed on Alina. His expression was a mixture of impatience and frustration.
"You really did start from the beginning like I asked," he muttered, visibly annoyed. "But so far I fail to see how that's relevant to your predicament."
Alina, her voice raspy and firm, didn't flinch. "You want to know my motives? You need to understand where I'm coming from. It's as simple as that," she replied coldly. "This isn't a simple story."
The officer scoffed, rubbing his face in irritation. "I never thought it'd be a 'simple story' to begin with. It would not justify an attempted terrorist attack or killing two damn Military Police officers," he retorted. He sighed heavily, scratching his beard as if trying to collect his thoughts. "Alright, fine. Tell your story, then."
He picked up the pile of documents on the table, giving them a cursory glance before tossing them aside with a thud. "We might as well do this right, huh?"
Alina watched him, her jaw clenched, knowing that this conversation would be far from easy. But if there was a chance to buy some time and come up with something—even if the slimmest chance of escape—then she would take it. She swore to protect humanity, no matter the cost. And that was what she was going to do.