The Blue Spirit

"Just wait Mark… "

"Come on Ilse. I need to lock up the place. Heck, I should have done that two hours ago."

She let out a frustrated sigh, staring down the towering stack of papers as if sheer willpower could make them disappear. Ink smudged her fingertips, tracing messy patterns like battle scars from hours of writing.

"Just - the library is the only place I can get any work done! I can't-"

"Your house –"

Her lips trembled as she tried to force the words out, but they caught in her throat like a trapped breath. "I-I… I s-s…" She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"Ah." Mark said. "You could always move out. Rent a better place."

"On what? The salary of a police desk-pusher isn't going to cover the cost of getting and renovating a new place."

She clicked her pen. Clicked it, again and again. Her lower lip folded underneath her teeth.

"It's been three years -"

"No."

Mark let the issue drop. She watched the Janitor sigh, grumble, and then yawn. "I'm heading home Ilse." He tossed the keys to her. "Once you're done with whatever it is you're writing, lock the place up."

"Okay…."

"Good night Ilse."

She heard him go; the door slamming shut behind him. Silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural. She should have welcomed the silence, but every shadow seemed to stir, every creak set her on edge. At the faintest sound, she was on her feet, pulse hammering. Minutes passed in that uneasy until she forced a breath, steadied herself, and turned back to her work.

… and so, in this manner, Paradis has only just begun to rebound from the debilitating losses incurred from the tragedy of the "Operation to Retake Wall Maria", which occurred nine years earlier. This was the government-organized mission where they sent 250,000 civilians to their deaths under the pretense of retaking Wall Maria. In reality, it was a way to reduce overpopulation inside Wall Rose after the fall of Shiganshina.

The greatest loss after Wall Maria's fall wasn't just the land—it was the people. In a desperate bid to reclaim it, the government sent them beyond the walls, unarmed and unprepared. They called it the Operation to Retake Wall Maria, but there was no real fight, only slaughter. The few hundreds who returned carried hollow eyes and silence, knowing the truth: this wasn't a battle, it was a sacrifice. The government called it necessary. The people called it murder.

The people did not forget. And they would never forgive.

While nobles feasted, widows begged. While merchants thrived, orphans starved. The government called it survival. The people called it betrayal.

Resentment grew in whisper-

Ilse stopped writing. She inhaled, deeply. She turned her attention to the clock, noting the time.

Maybe it was to go home

She wondered if it was a good thing that her Mom died three years before the massacre. No - no it was not. Titan would have merely killed her without hesitation, not drag her out in front of a town and –

She slapped her cheeks lightly. Forget it. It's in the past. Yes, it was in the past. It was why she could not, would not, ever return to active duty.

There was a loud bang and Ilse leapt from her chair. Already shaking.

"Who's there?"

No one responded. She hopped it was a stray cat or Mark forgetting something.

Then, a shift in the darkness. A presence.

He stepped from the shadows, slow and deliberate. The dim light caught the edges of his form, stretching his shadow long across the floor.

She froze, breath hitching.

That blue mask—grinning, hollow-eyed—stared back, cold and unfeeling.

A demon, a monster, or something worse.

She had heard the stories. Everyone had.

The Blue Spirit. A name spoken in hushed voices, feared even by the most hardened criminals. The leader of Prometheus, the gang that rose to power a couple of years ago, carving its place in the underworld through blood and fire. They said he moved like a ghost, striking without warning, leaving only ruin in his wake. Some claimed he was a man, others that he was something more—a phantom born from the city's darkness, a myth made flesh, relentless and merciless.

But no rumor, no whispered tale, no drunken bar story had prepared her for this.

For the suffocating presence of him.

His dark robes shifted like liquid night, his movements soundless.

Then the figure stood in front of her, eerily unmoving.

She swallowed the saliva in her throat and did her best to appear unfazed.

But she simply couldn't move.

She was terrified.

She tried to speak, but the words tangled on her tongue. "W-Who… w-what do y-you…?" Her breath hitched, heart hammering in her chest. The blue mask stared back, unblinking, unfeeling. She swallowed hard, forcing the words out, but they came in a whisper, fragile and broken. "Wh-what do you want…?"

A low, gravelly voice cut through the silence, rough as stone, sharp as a blade.

"Tell me everything… about what Nobleman Deltoff did to your family."

She registered the words, and the color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as a ghost. Her breath shuddered, her body stiffening as if the very mention of that name had stolen the air from her lungs

"Oh…"

Power wasn't just strength—it was control. And control didn't come from brute force alone. It came from knowledge, from leverage, from knowing exactly where to strike. The corrupt ruled through secrets, through whispers in dark halls and deals made behind locked doors. If he wanted to rise, if he wanted to bring them down, he had to know everything.

The average man worked a few hours a day, just enough to stay useful. The ambitious pushed harder, grinding away at their skills. But even they had limits— hesitation, conscience, morals. He had none.

So he worked. He listened. He followed. He dug through records, intercepted messages, planted himself in places no one expected. He studied movements, patterns, weaknesses. He mapped their sins, traced the threads of deception until he saw the whole rotten web.

Others gathered blackmail as a tool, a safeguard. He gathered it as a weapon. Not to protect himself, but to pull their strings, to make them dance, to drag them down when the time was right.

He wasn't waiting for justice. He was building his Empire.

She trembled, hands clutching at his cloak, her voice a broken whisper. "P-please… I told you everything… I swear. Just—just don't kill me."

Tears streaked her face, eyes wide with terror, searching the hollow white gaze of that blue mask for mercy.

There was nothing. No anger, no hesitation—just silence.

She flinched as he crouched beside her, the weight of his presence suffocating. Slowly, deliberately, he reached forward and brushed a gloved hand against her cheek, his fingers cold as death.

Her breath hitched. "I—I did what you wanted! You said—" She choked on her words, her grip slipping as she fell to her knees. "Please…"

He didn't speak.

Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. Flicked it open. The faint scratch of pen against paper was the only sound in the suffocating silence.

Each stroke deliberate.

Subject: Female, early twenties. Malnourished. Sunken cheeks, red-rimmed eyes—prolonged distress.

Demeanor: Trembling. Kneeling, shoulders hunched—submissive but desperate. Watches for movement, clings to hope.

Conclusion: Broken. Afraid. Willing to talk.

She shuddered, her fingers curling into fists. He was writing about her. Studying her like she was nothing more than an experiment.

"I—" her voice cracked, throat raw. "I told you everything."

He turned a page. Slowly.

"You missed something," he murmured. The voice—low, gravelly, inhuman beneath the mask—was worse than a threat. It was a statement of fact.

"I—I didn't," she whimpered.

He reached out, took her wrist—gently at first. Then, a sudden squeeze. Just enough pressure to send a bolt of panic through her chest.

"You think Deltoff won't come for you even if you don't talk?" His grip tightened. Not enough to break anything. Just enough to remind her that he could. "You think I won't?"

She sobbed, shoulders shaking violently.

"My mother—" The words barely escaped her lips.

The gloved hand shifted, now gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at him. The blue mask filled her vision, hollow eyes swallowing her whole.

"She thought she could save you," he murmured. The cold detachment in his voice made her stomach churn. "She thought playing the Nobleman's pet would spare you. Just like you thought keeping quiet would save you."

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It didn't."

A strangled cry tore from her throat. She tried to turn away, but he held her still.

The weight of him. The inescapability of him.

She had nothing left. No fight, no will. Just the truth.

And so, she broke.

Before her child's eyes, Deltoff's men defiled her mother. One villager, enraged, tried to stop them and was slaughtered. The rest stood frozen, too afraid to act, watching as she suffered, as blood soaked the ground, as the village burned despite her sacrifice.

The Blue Spirit's pen scratched against the paper. His voice was low, gravelly.

"Sacrifice means nothing to men like him."

Control is moderate—enough for small players, not the real ones. Bureaucrats are easily bribed but disposable. Some military officers crack under pressure, others need a cause. The nobles guard their secrets well, but every fortress has weak points.

The next steps are clear: infiltrate the judiciary through bribable clerks, uncover hidden deals in merchant records, and exploit growing dissent within the military.

He shut the notebook, tucking it away as he turned. His steps were slow, deliberate.

Then, like a shadow, he was gone.

The Cave of Two Lovers

Why did you leave me!

"Mika-"

Eren-

"Mikasa-"

Eren please-

"Would you at least open the window" A familiar voice finally reached her.

Armin

She threw off her covers, moving to the window, and staring at him. As silently as she could, she opened her own window. Shuddering from the blast of cold night breeze.

"Hey you…" his whisper so gentle. For her.

Her chest sang at the sight of him. He entered in a hoodie and a pair of shorts, his eyes locked solely on her as he took her hand and led them both to sit on her bed. Golden locks framed his face, and in his hand, he held a familiar rolled parchment. She shivered from the cold as she approached him and took a seat beside him.

Without a word, he reached to his left, grabbing a large, oversized blanket. Without a word, he dragged her closer to him, tossing the blanket over both of them, as the warmth of his legs touched the frigidness of hers, and sent shivers racing through them. He brought her even closer, closer still until their bodies were pressed against each other, as her body siphoned off his warmth and her nostrils drew in his scent. There was that particular scent he had with him, the scent of the thing idly resting in between his index and middle finger.

"Im not gonna ask a stupid question as 'how are you?'. But you know you can talk to me right Mika?"

"I know…" She did. She truly did.

She watched him put the object into his mouth. With a drag, smoke exhaled through his nostrils, and she felt him relax, softly. Without a word, he gestured the object to her, slowly.

"It will help..."

"What is it?" She asked curiously. She liked hearing him talk. He knew so much about everything and was so passionate about learning more.

"This is cannabis, a plant from Hizuru. You're probably familiar with tobacco, which is commonly grown in Wall Sina. Tobacco contains nicotine, a highly addictive substance, and the pleasure gained from each cigarette is minimal compared to the risk of cancer it poses. The main psychoactive compound in cannabis is tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC. Compared to nicotine, THC has a lower risk of dependence and addiction. Most importantly, it will help you relax."

She got the gist of it. "So, cigarettes are bad, and cannabis is better," she summarized, taking a puff. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she basked in his presence.

"He'll be back you know…"

"…you're ruining this" she deadpans at him.

"Meh…" he shrugged.

"…you're an ass" She said snuggling up to his side, feeling content and grateful.

"Shush, I'll tell you an old story"

He took a long, deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. Her gaze sharpened, the haze of relaxation settling over. "It's called The Cave of Two Lovers…"

She leaned in. she loved his voice. Soo soothing. Soo calming.

"They met on top of the mountain that divided their two villages ..."

She took a slow drag, warmth spreading through her limbs as Armin's voice droned on. The words swirled in her mind, twisting, morphing. Shadows flickered at the edges of her vision.

A breeze brushed her skin—impossible. The room blurred, colors melting together. Suddenly, she wasn't just hearing the story.

She was inside it.

Two figures, a man dressed in red and a woman in blue, meet atop the mountain. They take each other's hands, though they swiftly let go

" The villages were enemies, so they could not be together ... but their love was strong and they found a way."

Two hills appear; on the closer one is the man, while the woman kneels on the one farther away. Though their faces cannot be seen in detail, it is obvious that they long for the other.

"The two lovers learned bend earth from a spirit, a Badgermole; they became the first earthbenders. They built elaborate tunnels, so they could meet secretly."

She can somehow invision mixture of a badger and a mole, a burrowing giant with fur as dark as the caves it calls home, as well as that of the young couple beginning to create the labyrinth.

"They built elaborate tunnels, so they could meet secretly."

The pattern of a labyrinth appears.

"Anyone who tried to follow them would be lost forever in the labyrinth."

The couple kisses.

"But, one day, the man didn't come. he'd died in the war between the two villages."

she opened her eyes at that. Taking another drag. She needed to relax. She looked up—and suddenly, she wasn't just listening anymore. She was there.

Arrows flying at her. She saw a woman weeping by a grave.

"Devastated, the woman unleashed a terrible display of her earthbending power - she could have destroyed them all ..."

She saw her anger, her rage, immense earthbending power. All masking a sorrow so consuming.

"-but, instead, she declared the war over. Both villages helped her build a new city where they would live together in peace. The woman's name was Oma and the man's name was Shu. The great city was named Omashu as a monument to their love." He took a last big drag, looked at her, and said, "Love is brightest in the dark."

Silence followed. He waited for a response, but none came.

Frowning, he leaned in slightly—only to find her head tilted to the side, breaths slow and steady. As the soft rise and fall of her chest confirmed it, he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

"Im sorry this is a terrible bluff Mikasa," he said rolling his eyes at her attempt to act asleep, exhaling the last of the smoke before settling in beside her.

"Shush..."

...Game recognize game