Chapter2: Where is Eren?
A quiet knock echoed through the woods. Nine-year-old Eren Yeager stood beside his father, Grisha, outside the Ackermanns' home.
Grisha knocked again—louder this time. The door creaked open slightly.
"Mr. Ackermann?" Grisha called out, his voice tense.
The door swung wider, revealing a horrifying scene.
Inside, both Mr. and Mrs. Ackermann lay motionless on the floor—lifeless.
Blood pooled around them.
Grisha quickly pulled Eren behind him, shielding the boy's eyes too late.
Elsewhere, in a cold, abandoned cabin…
A young girl, Mikasa, only nine, lied down a bruise on her lip.
Two men stood nearby.
"She's got Asian blood," one of them said with a twisted grin. "You know how rare that is now? We'll make a fortune selling her."
The other man spat on the floor. "Would've made more if you hadn't killed the mother, idiot. Two of her kind? That's double."
The first thug growled, "She came at me with an axe—I had to defend myself!"
Mikasa remained silent.
Cold. Still.
A sudden knock echoed through the creaky wooden cabin.
One of the thugs stood up and opened the door, only to find a 9-year-old boy standing in the rain—drenched, shivering, but with oddly calm eyes.
"What do you want, kid?" the thug asked, suspicious.
"Sorry… I got lost in the woods. It's raining. Can I stay here until it stops?" the boy asked, voice trembling just enough to sound believable.
The thug turned to his partner and gave a subtle nod. He knelt to the boy's level, ruffling his hair with a smile laced in malice.
"You're lucky you didn't get eaten by wolves. It's dangerous for little kids to wander alone. But sure… you can stay—"
Suddenly, his body jerked.
His eyes widened. He looked down.
A knife was buried deep in his chest.
Blood splattered across his clothes as the boy pulled it out with a violent twist.
"Die, you bastard," Eren muttered, his voice cold.
The other thug heard the thud and shouted, "Hey, kid!"
He grabbed an axe and burst out the door—but found no one.
Then it happened.
Eren lunged from the shadows. The knife, now lashed to a broken broomstick, drove straight into the thug's chest. The impact knocked both of them inside the cabin, crashing to the floor.
Eren landed on top—didn't hesitate.
He stabbed. Again. And again.
"Die... you monster... DIE!"
Each word came with a thrust. The blood splattered across his hands, face, and clothes. There was no fear in his eyes—just pure, boiling rage.
Mikasa lay on the cold wooden floor, her mind a fog of fear and numbness. Her small body trembled, too shocked to even cry. Then—
She heard it.
Screams.
Grunts.
The sound of something wet and violent.
She blinked, her dazed eyes adjusting to the dim light. Eren—a boy her age—was on top of one of the men. His arms were moving in a blur, stabbing again and again. Blood stained his face, his clothes, his hands… the floor.
She jerked upright, gasping. Her breath caught in her throat.
What is happening...?
Eren looked up. His chest was heaving. But when his eyes met hers, the rage melted for a moment.
He stepped toward her—still clutching the bloodied knife. But his voice was soft. Steady.
"Don't be afraid," he said.
Mikasa just stared, unable to speak.
"Me and my dad... we went to your house," Eren continued, swallowing. "Your parents... they're gone."
Tears welled in her eyes, but still, she said nothing.
Eren stepped closer, lowering himself to her level. "But you're alive. And I'm here now."
He held out his hand to her—trembling, bloodstained.
"I'll protect you," he said. "You're safe now. I promise. I'll save you… no matter what." He untied her hands.
Suddenly, the cabin's inner door burst open. A third thug stepped out, eyes going wide as he took in the sight—his comrades lying dead in pools of blood. His gaze snapped to Eren, whose small hands were still slick with crimson.
"You little brat…" the thug growled, his face contorting with rage. "You're dead!"
Before Eren could react, the man lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him hard against the wall. The impact rattled Eren's bones, knocking the air from his lungs. The knife slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor.
The thug wrapped a thick hand around Eren's neck, lifting him slightly off the ground. Eren kicked and struggled, trying to break free, but the man's grip was iron.
"Mikasa!" Eren choked out, his voice strained. "The knife—grab it! Kill him!"
Mikasa froze.
Her body trembled. Her breath was shallow. Her eyes flicked between the blood on the floor… and the dying boy in front of her.
"Do it, Mikasa!" Eren gasped. "Unless you want us both to die!"
And then—
Something inside her snapped.
The fear... melted.
Replaced by something primal, something ancient.
Something she had never felt before—not fear, but instinct.
Her eyes sharpened. Her hands stopped trembling.
She picked up the knife.
Without a word, she rushed forward and drove the blade into the thug's back with all her strength.
The man let out a strangled yell, releasing Eren. He staggered, but Mikasa didn't stop—she stabbed again. And again.
Until he fell.
Dead.
Silence filled the room.
Mikasa stood over the body, her chest rising and falling, blood on her hands.
Eren coughed, catching his breath. He looked up at her—not with fear, but something close to awe.
"You did it," he said, voice hoarse. "You saved us."
Grisha's voice boomed as he faced his son, furious and shaken.
"Eren! I told you to wait! The Military Police were on their way! You acted recklessly!"
Eren's hands were clenched into fists, his voice defiant, yet trembling with emotion.
"By the time they got there, they would've taken her. Or worse. I had to act. I got rid of those animals!"
"Enough!" Grisha snapped. "You threw your life into danger without thinking! What if you had died? What if they killed you? Do you realize what would've happened to her then?"
Eren fell silent, jaw tight, eyes downcast.
Grisha exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward Mikasa. She sat on a fallen log nearby, arms around herself, distant… silent. A shadow of the trauma still lingered in her eyes.
Grisha softened his voice as he approached her.
"Mikasa… We've met before. When you were just a baby."
Mikasa looked up slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Dr. Yeager… can you tell me the way back to my house?"
She glanced away, eyes unfocused. "It's cold here… and I don't have anywhere to go."
Before Grisha could respond, Eren stepped forward.
Without saying a word, he unwound the red scarf from around his neck and gently draped it around hers.
Mikasa's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden warmth. She looked up at him.
"You can keep it," Eren said, a small, serious smile on his face. "It's warm, isn't it?"
He reached for her hand.
"We're willing to take you with us," grisha said quietly. "Come with us, Mikasa. You need plenty of rest."
Eren gently tugged her hand. "…I'll protect you."
For a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Then her lips trembled, and without warning, tears spilled from her eyes. Silent, but endless. She didn't speak. She just held his hand tighter.
Back to present.
Three days, It had been three days since Mikasa was taken—eaten by a Titan right in front of him. And ever since, Eren hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.
No matter how many times his mother or Armin called out to him, he just sat there—still, cold, and unblinking.
In his mind, that moment replayed on an endless loop.
The forest. The blood. Her smile.
The memory of saving her… the hope in her eyes…
Until even that memory darkened and his mind went blank.
He didn't even have her in memories anymore.
A week later, Eren finally stood on his feet. But the boy that rose… wasn't the same. His eyes were cold, distant—like there was no soul behind them.
He acted as though Mikasa had never existed.
He barely spoke. Only responded when his mother called his name.
To Armin, to Carla… he was polite, quiet, and painfully distant.
What shook them most was not his silence— But the fact that Eren never once mentioned Mikasa. Not her name. Not her scarf. He never cried. Not a single tear.
Carla tried to believe it was just his way of grieving. Armin, too, convinced himself it was Eren's defense mechanism—until even he started to doubt it.
The tragedy didn't stop there, the walls were overcrowded. Refugees from Wall Maria now lived in chaos within Wall Rose. Food was scarce. People were starving.
To lessen the burden, the government began sending adults from Wall Maria to fight at the frontlines. Armin's grandfather was one of them.
Days passed. Then weeks. No one came back.
When the news reached them, Armin didn't even cry—he just stared, hollow and shaken.
That night, Carla placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You can stay with us, Armin," she said softly. "This is your home now."
Armin hesitated at first, but Carla insisted. She held him close, whispering comfort into his hair as the silence around them thickened.
In the corner of the room, Eren sat by the window.
He said nothing. He watched the rain fall outside— And felt nothing.
One morning, Carla watched as Eren quietly stepped outside. There was a fragile relief in her chest — a part of her dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to recover. He hadn't spoken much. He barely reacted. But at least he was moving again.
Eren walked alone. Through the edge of town, past fields that had once been trampled by chaos, until he reached the countryside. There, nestled in silence, was a small lake — its surface untouched, like glass.
He knelt by the water's edge. The breeze was gentle. The trees stood still.
For a moment, he saw himself. Pale. Tired. Hollow.
Then the reflection twisted — as if the water rejected him.
His features blurred, warped by something unseen. Eyes vanished. shadow passed beneath the suddenly, he couldn't see his face anymore.
Eren stood. Slowly. He didn't speak. He didn't flinch.
He turned from the lake and walked on. Not toward anywhere.
Just… away. As if he didn't know — or didn't care — where his feet were taking him.
Eren had disappeared for days.
Carla and Armin searched, asked neighbours, questioned vendors in the market—no sign of him.
Then Keith Shadis Carla's old friend arrived at their doorstep with a grim expression.
That's when the truth hit like a hammer: Eren had joined the he did it without telling anyone.
Now, Carla stood in front of her son, trembling—not with rage, but with heartbreak.
Her voice cracked, barely holding back tears. "Tell me, Eren… is it true?"
She stared at him. "Did you join the Scouts… without even telling me?"
Eren stood still, eyes lowered. He said nothing.
Carla's tone grew sharper, more desperate. "Speak, Eren! I'm talking to you—not to a wall!"
Eren finally gave a small nod. That was all.
Carla's voice shook. "Do you even understand what you've done? The danger you're in?" "I already lost your father to the Titans… And now you're—" her voice caught in her throat, "—you're throwing yourself into the same hell?"
Eren didn't answer. Didn't explain. Didn't justify.
He just stood there—a boy who had seen too much, lost too much, and felt too little.
The silence between them grew heavy.
Armin stood in the corner, watching silently—too stunned to speak.
He looked at Eren, his best friend, the boy who once dreamed of freedom beyond the walls.
But now… Eren wasn't even listening. He turned and walked away.
Carla called after him, her voice breaking. "Eren! Come back here! Eren!"
But he didn't care. He didn't even look back.
Not once.
Carla collapsed into the nearest chair, shaking. Armin slowly approached, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"He still hasn't recovered from Mikasa's death," Armin whispered, his voice barely audible.
Tears began to stream down Carla's face. "Me too, Armin… I miss her too. But Eren… he's hurting more than anyone."
Armin looked down, his fists clenched. Then he said it:
"I'm going to join the Scouts."
Carla looked up, horrified. "What? Armin, no… it's too dangerous. You saw what happened to Mikasa."
"I know the risks," Armin replied, voice steady. "But Eren needs someone to watch his back. Someone to stop him before he loses himself completely. You know how impulsive he is."
Carla didn't argue. Deep down, she knew Armin was right.
So, Armin joined the cadets—for Eren.
Eren pushed himself like a man possessed. He trained harder than anyone—harder than what was humanly reasonable. Commanders watched in silent awe.
He trained until his body collapsed, then slept for days, only to do it all over again. Armin was worried.
In hand-to-hand combat training , Eren was brutal—ruthless. He fought like he wanted to bleed or make others bleed. Fellow cadets began avoiding him. Some whispered he was cursed. Others just stayed away.
Only Armin remained.
He tried to speak sense into Eren many times. "Eren, this isn't healthy. You need to slow down. You'll destroy yourself."
But Eren would just walk away, silent or scowling. He didn't want comfort. He wanted power.
One year passed.
Commander Keith Shadis had seen enough. He called Eren into his tent.
"If you don't take a break… I'll have no choice but to discharge you. Go home. Rest."
Reluctantly, Eren agreed.
As they prepared to leave, Keith handed a sealed envelope to Armin.
"Give this to Carla," he said. "She deserves to know the truth."
Eren and Armin returned home. Armin gave the letter to Carla.
She opened it and read.
With every word, her face turned pale. Her hands trembled.
Armin watched in silence as Carla clutched the letter to her chest.
Tears welled up in her eyes again—but this time, there was something else behind them.
Dread.
Carla lowered the letter, her hands trembling. Her face was pale, her voice quiet but shaken.
"…It's more serious than we thought," she said.
Armin's expression darkened. "Does the letter say what Eren did during training?"
Carla nodded slowly.
Armin hesitated, then asked, "Does it mention… how he beat a fellow cadet to a pulp?"
Again, she nodded. "Yes."
Armin let out a tired sigh. "It happened just a few weeks ago. The cadet said he planned to join the Military Police so he could stay safe inside the inner walls. I guess… Eren didn't like that."
"He didn't say a word," Armin continued, "just walked over and started hitting him. Over and over. We had to drag him off. If we hadn't… I don't know what he would've done."
Carla covered her mouth, trying to hold back the tears.
"After that," Armin said quietly, "Commander Shadis isolated him for a few days. Said Eren needed time to cool off. But… I don't think Eren ever did."
Carla shook her head slowly. "None of this makes sense. He attacked someone just because they didn't want to fight Titans?"
Armin looked down. "It's like… every time he steps into the ring for training, he isn't sparring. He's fighting like he's on a battlefield. Like he sees Titans—or monsters—every time he throws a punch."
The room fell silent.
Neither of them said it aloud, but they both felt it:
Eren was changing.
And something inside him was starting to break.
"I think Mikasa's death left a deep wound in him," Carla said softly, her voice heavy with sorrow.
Armin nodded. "Yeah… but he never talks about her. Not even once. When we ask, he barely responds. Even during training, when the others ask why he joined the cadets, he just stares at them. Some of them think he's a maniac."
Carla's eyes welled with tears. Seeing her son like this—so distant, so broken—she didn't know what to do anymore.
"Maybe he's blaming himself," Armin said quietly. "For not saving her."
Carla nodded slowly. "I think you're right. We need to talk to him."
"But how?" Armin asked, concerned. "He barely listens… and if we bring up Mikasa, who knows how he'll react?"
Carla wiped her eyes and looked up at Armin. "You're right. But if we don't help him now, if we let this go on… we might lose him completely."
Then Carla said, "We need to talk to him… at the same time."
"But if we both talk at once, he might not understand either," Armin added, concerned.
carla nodded slightly. "If we try to speak to him individually, he might not listen in his current state."
"Maybe we start together," Carla suggested gently. "Then you can try talking to him again later, once he's had time to process."
Armin nodded. "Yeah… I just hope we can bring him back."
12/4/2025
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