The old gate creaked as the carriage pulled to a stop before the abandoned fortress. Evening light filtered through cracked clouds, casting the ruin in a gold-drenched hush. The air smelled faintly of pine, wet stone, and old dust—like something ancient was waking up.
Squad Levi stood in formation by the doors. But they didn't look like soldiers. They looked like berry-stained survivors.
Their uniforms were rumpled. Petra's braid was coming undone. Eld had a faint purple smear across his jaw. Oluo was still picking what might've been a cherry stem from his collar. And still—they stood tall.
Straight-backed. Shoulders square. Like recruits on inspection day. Even Gunther, who hadn't stopped muttering about fruit taxes for the past three hours, stood at attention. They were bracing themselves. Because they weren't ready for what came next.
The carriage door creaked. Levi stepped out. Boots to stone. His coat shifted in the breeze. His face? Blank. Unmoving. Typical.
And then—He paused. Turned. And did something none of them had ever seen. He held out his hand. To help someone out.
Steady. Deliberate.
Captain Beatrice Dalca stepped down. One gloved hand slid into his like it had done it before. He didn't let go right away. He just held steady until she found her footing, then dropped her hand wordlessly and stepped forward. Her coat caught the light. Dark gray. Crisp.
Her posture: perfect.
Her eyes: unreadable.
The squad? Frozen.
Eld blinked.
Gunther stiffened.
Petra's polite smile barely suppressed the smirk underneath.
Oluo's mouth moved, but no sound came out. He looked like a man who'd seen the Virgin Mary and Commander Erwin hand in hand on a picnic blanket.
Levi glanced at them.
"Well?"
Eld straightened. "Sir!" He stepped forward with a reverent caution usually reserved for relics or explosives. They pushed forward a crate, covered with cloth, corners tied neatly.
"Berries," Gunther said, clearing his throat. "All of them. Especially boysenberries. We followed your instructions exactly."
Levi nodded once. Then peeled back the cloth.
Inside: a modest mountain of glistening berries, each hand-sorted, cleaned, and—most importantly—completely intact.
He didn't say anything. Just glanced sideways.
Beatrice's lips parted faintly. Not in shock. But something more subtle.
"Thanks." She stepped forward and plucked the top bundle of boysenberries—perfect, fat, dark red. Examined it with an almost imperceptible smile. She didn't eat it. Just… held it for a moment.
Levi didn't say anything.
But the way his eyes followed her hand said everything. It wasn't tactical. It was personal.
The squad watched with painful restraint.
Petra's lips twitched.
Eld leaned just enough to elbow Oluo.
Gunther stared into the middle distance.
They didn't dare speak.
But every one of them was screaming internally:
Oh. He's so gone.
The dining hall echoed. Stone walls. Wooden beams. Long shadows cast by flickering oil lanterns.
The food was simple—bread, stew, dried fruit, salted meat.
But no one cared about the food. Not really. Not when they were seated at the head of the table.
Captain Levi.
Captain Dalca.
The two ends of a blade—danger in balance.
The newer cadets clustered together on the far side, hunched slightly like they were hoping not to be noticed. Mikasa. Armin. Connie. Sasha. Jean.
Even Mikasa sat straighter than usual, one eye constantly drifting down the table.
Captain Dalca, expression calm but unreadable, seated beside Levi, who hadn't touched his food. He was too busy occasionally brushing away invisible flecks from her sleeve. Or refilling her water. Or glaring when Jean accidentally looked at her for too long.
"Is it just me," Mikasa murmured, "or is Levi... different?"
Armin tilted his head, eyes narrowed in quiet study.
"I think he's always like this."
"Like what?"
"Like that," he said, nodding toward where Levi was now tilting the lantern a little closer to Beatrice's side of the table.
No words. No request. Just action.
Beatrice said little. But when she did? Everyone listened. At one point, Sasha asked a question about titan movement patterns.
Beatrice turned toward her, answered without judgment.
Eren watched in stunned silence.
She was terrifying.
But composed.
Controlled.
Levi, though? He was vibrating at a frequency no one could place. Because whenever someone so much as leaned slightly toward her, he tensed.
And that's when Petra whispered across the table to Gunther, "She's scary."
"Yeah."
"But Levi?"
"Levi's insane when she's here."
"It's kind of sweet."
"It's kind of terrifying."
Oluo grunted. "You say that like it's new."
Petra grinned. "It's not."
Eren looked up—just in time to catch Levi casually tilting the lantern closer to Beatrice's side of the table.
No words. No explanation. Just that. And suddenly—
Eren understood why the squad had stared when he'd tried to talk to her in the carriage.
Because Levi may be humanity's strongest, but when it came to Captain Dalca?
He was something else entirely.