Some nights, words are simply not enough to describe what happens in the heart.
And perhaps this night was one of those—
a night where hearts stand bare, searching for whatever warmth remains amid the cold of war.
Sarah was not merely a heroine of a battle.
She was a woman facing herself, her past,
and a heart upon whose door a feeling she had never known before had begun to knock.
As for Levi, every step she took unsettled him,
every glance ignited an inner conflict he was unaccustomed to.
Was what was happening between them real emotion—
or merely a moment of weakness behind closed walls?
Sarah awoke late in the afternoon,
not because sleep had had its fill of her,
but because her soul had awakened first.
The light in the room was not as she knew it.
Autumn sunlight crept across the walls in a silent golden hush,
leaving on her warm face traces like a mother's gentle touch, waking her child with care.
It wasn't only the room that seemed to breathe calmly—
it was as if something within her heart had slowed, at last.
The success of the experiment, Connie's mother returning to life, the visit at noon,
the gratitude shining in Connie's eyes…
All of it was not merely a scientific achievement,
but a moment where the wall between reason and compassion finally cracked.
She felt something slipping through her veins—
not quite energy,
but closer to a quiet, hidden calling.
As though this evening carried a promise she could not yet name,
but her heart recognized it before her mind ever could.
For the first time in a long while,
she felt that time was no longer being wasted—
but patiently awaited.
❖ Scents That Linger – A Message Through Flavor
Sarah moved lightly toward the kitchen—not to interfere, but as if something unseen was pulling her there.
The familiar chaos greeted her as always, yet today… it felt more alive.
Cooks whispered to one another, plates piled high, and aromas intertwined as if a grand celebration were about to begin.
Sarah paused at the doorway, watching with quiet curiosity.
One of the staff approached her and whispered gently,
"It's a dinner in honor of Kasper's return and the success of the serum. Everyone is preparing."
Sarah nodded. She said nothing, but after a moment she turned to one of the cooks and asked,
"Did… did any of you bring salmon from the latest shipment?"
The cook looked surprised, then nodded.
Sarah (almost in a whisper, her eyes lingering on the table):
"It was my father's favorite dish."
She didn't ask to cook it herself.
She didn't reach for a knife.
She only stepped closer and watched—how it was prepared, how it was sliced, how it was seasoned.
When the cook noticed her gaze, he asked kindly,
"Would you like us to prepare it your way?"
Sarah hesitated, then smiled.
"Why not? Just… add a light slice of lemon after cooking.
That's how he liked it… my father."
It wasn't about the food.
It was about memory.
About the quiet feeling that she was standing at the edge of something new—
with a taste from the past.
❖ A Taste Not Spoken—But Offered
Despite the noise and rush of the kitchen, Sarah stayed until the final moments.
She wasn't looking for a role—only for an imprint.
She didn't want this evening to pass without leaving something of herself behind.
Not because she sought attention, but because her heart carried something she didn't know how to say.
She approached the cooks as they prepared trays of meat, toasted bread, and bean salad, and asked calmly,
"Do you have mountain honey? Dried apples? And a bit of walnuts?"
One of them looked surprised, then nodded.
On the island, these ingredients were rare—but not impossible.
From the forests. From old beehives. From a long autumn.
She took the ingredients quietly and sat at the edge of a wooden table where no one disturbed her, and began to work.
She sliced the dried apples thin, gently toasted them with the walnuts over low heat, then drizzled warm honey over them—just a few drops—and finished with a touch of fine sea salt.
The aroma was subtle, yet deeply comforting.
It didn't overwhelm the senses—it awakened memories.
As if you weren't eating… but returning.
She poured the mixture into small bowls and covered them with white cloth.
Then she approached the head cook and said softly, with calm insistence,
"Serve this with dessert. Don't mention who made it.
Let whoever tastes it… simply feel."
He didn't argue.
Because in her eyes there was something like quiet certainty—
and the weight of someone who knew that sweetness is not just food,
but a message.
After that, she returned to her room.
Her body was exhausted, yet something inside her remained wide awake.
She turned on the hot water and let it cascade over her shoulders, as if washing away something old… while igniting something not yet born.
Tonight was not only about Kasper or the serum.
It was about another question entirely:
Had what Sarah done brought her closer to the island—
or had it placed her farther away from everyone?
The Past
❖ A Mirror Unlike Any Other
When Sarah finished bathing, she stepped out quietly, as though the water had cleansed something invisible deep within her. She stood before the mirror, the dim light shaping her reflection like a painting still in the making.
The way she looked at herself was different now—
not the gaze of inspection, but of someone searching for truth behind every mask.
She picked up the deep crimson dress, long and fluid as it slipped over her body.
It revealed her form not to entice, but because she had finally learned how to stand—without fear, without shame.
The dress bared her shoulders like newly formed wings, elegance inseparable from strength.
She let her hair fall freely, unbound.
She added subtle touches of makeup—not to dazzle, but to announce her presence without apology.
Then her hand paused at the necklace.
A small piece—yet heavy with years.
She looked at it.
It belonged to another time… a time when her heart had handed over its keys too easily, before she learned that some doors open only to ruin.
It had been a gift from a man who never truly understood her, never protected her—
a man who left behind something hanging from her neck, a reminder that she had once been breakable.
Her fingers reached for it… then stopped.
She breathed slowly, as though the air itself had grown heavier.
"I am not removing you for another man,"
she whispered inwardly, for no one else to hear.
"I am removing you for myself.
For Layla.
For the island.
For the heart I will never allow to be trampled again."
She unclasped the necklace calmly. No tears. No drama.
The truth no longer required them.
She placed it inside a small box and closed it—
like closing a book whose time had passed.
She inhaled deeply, as if bidding farewell to a child who had long been hiding within her.
Then she left the room.
Her steps this time held no hesitation.
Not because she was ready for love—
but because she was ready to be the woman who sees her path and walks it, without looking back.
❖ The Hall — An Entrance Unlike Any Other
In the grand reception hall, where golden lights reflected off polished goblets and silver cutlery, and velvet fabrics gleamed in royal hues, the air was thick with nobility and political calculation.
Queen Historia sat at the center of the table, Commander Zachary to her right and Pixis to her left, their expressions balanced between diplomacy and unease.
Across from them sat Hange—glasses barely hiding the spark of excitement in her eyes—beside Levi, as always silent, leaning slightly back, eyes tracking details like a sniper awaiting a signal.
Quiet conversations flowed about the serum, about Kasper, about Titans…
then something in the air shifted.
The door opened.
And Sarah entered.
She did not walk in as a guest.
Nor merely as a scientist.
She entered like an answer to a question no one had dared to ask.
The room fell silent.
Some heads turned.
Some hands froze mid-bite.
Even Historia raised her brows slightly—a rare reaction.
She wore a long red dress, trailing softly behind her like a noble whisper. Her shoulders were bare with a confidence that required no explanation. Her loose hair flowed over her neck like a gentle wave of night.
But the eyes in the room did not linger on the dress—
they lingered on her face.
A face that months ago had been tired, uncertain, carrying the wounds of exile in its eyes.
Now it was luminous. Balanced. Steady.
Grey eyes that no longer searched for shelter—
but met the world head-on.
She walked with the confidence of someone who seeks no approval…
only offers it.
The serum had restored her body, yes—
but what they saw tonight was something else entirely.
A strength that cannot be bought.
A presence that cannot be manufactured.
And when she passed near Levi, even he stopped drinking his water.
He did not stare.
He only lifted his eyes briefly—as if witnessing an unexpected sunset in the middle of a formal dinner.
Hange leaned toward him, whispering teasingly:
"Is that… Sarah? Or did the serum come with added benefits?"
Levi did not answer.
He did not smile.
He did not show surprise.
But he swallowed something that had nothing to do with the glass in his hand.
As if his heart had spoken—
and the words had yet to find their language.
❖ A Night That Spoke in Silence
Sarah smiled softly as she approached the table.
"I apologize for the delay."
Yet it wasn't the words that drew every eye in the room—
it was the way she said them.
Not as an apology… but as the announcement of something new beginning.
She took her seat calmly beside Nicolo, whose composed smile faltered for just a moment—as if her presence had unsettled something steady within him.
Her eyes were serene, but behind that calm stirred a storm unlike any other.
Even Levi, who wore silence like armor, could not fully hide the faint flicker of unease in his gaze—as though he had seen something he wasn't ready to face.
For a brief instant, the table ceased to exist.
There was no food, no clinking silverware—
only her face, entering their field of vision like the first breath after drowning.
At that moment, Pixis tapped gently against his glass.
He turned toward Casper, now seated in a new place beside the Queen—looking like a man returned from a distant era.
Pixis (with a warm, paternal smile):
"Friends… let us raise our glasses tonight—not for fine dining, but for a human miracle.
For Casper's return… and for hope, restored by the hands of one who arrived as a guest—
and became one of us."
Historia (calmly, her eyes fixed on Sarah):
"This is not merely a medical triumph.
It is a victory of will—perhaps greater than discovering what lies beyond the walls."
Silence followed.
Then glasses were raised.
All but one.
Levi did not drink.
His gaze remained on Sarah—not openly, but from the corners of his vision—
as though his heart had stopped obeying military command.
Hange, who missed nothing, leaned toward him with a playful whisper:
Hange (grinning):
"It seems the salmon wasn't the only thing cooked tonight…
I believe your heart is starting to simmer too."
Levi didn't respond.
His eyes lingered where they were—
fixed on the faint smile that appeared on Sarah's lips…
the smile she wore without her usual necklace.
Hange (a bit louder, arching a brow):
"And by the way… I notice your necklace is missing, Sarah.
Is this part of a transformation ritual?"
Sarah (calmly, glancing at her glass before lifting her eyes):
"Sometimes… we have to let go of something,
so we can carry what is truly precious."
A simple sentence—
yet it rang like a bell in an abandoned cathedral.
Nicolo cleared his throat softly, trying to break the invisible tension.
But something inside Levi—
a man untouched by ornaments or display—had shifted.
He disliked long speeches.
He had no Nicolo's poetry.
No Hange's lightness.
Yet something unfamiliar stirred in his chest—
something no rule could define, no training had prepared him for.
Was Sarah choosing to express love in a way that did not resemble love?
Or had he finally learned to see—
without anyone needing to tell him:
Look. She is the one who loves you.
Casper (steadily, as if carving memory from stone):
"They were companions—Grisha and Jalal.
From two different worlds: one a doctor, the other a man who loved crossing boundaries.
Yet something between them aligned…
as if the idea in one man's mind lived in the other's heart."
The guests exchanged glances, as though history itself was being rewritten—not in books, but in the voices of those who had lived it.
Casper (continuing, his eyes shining):
"Grisha worked in the shadows, searching for meaning and immortality in genetics.
But Jalal… Jalal was light that refused to be caged.
He spoke. He stood. He dared to ask:
'Are we truly free?'
And he paid the price for that courage."
He turned toward Sarah—his gaze no longer mere sympathy, but belonging.
Casper (softly, as if addressing a soul rather than a body):
"He spoke of you—and of your sister, Layla—more than he ever spoke of himself.
You were his remaining dream in a collapsing world.
In you, he saw promise… and salvation."
Despite everything she had endured, something deep within Sarah trembled.
She did not cry openly—but her gaze drifted forward, as though doors long sealed within her chest had been stirred.
Sarah (in a trembling whisper, holding back tears):
"But he never saw us grow up…
Marley stole that chance from him.
Then life took my mother.
And we were left… fragments of a shattered childhood."
Silence fell again.
But not an empty silence—
one full of meaning.
Casper (closing his eyes briefly, as if surrendering a secret):
"He did not live to see you…
but everything he did was for you.
What he sacrificed was not foolishness—
it was love.
He believed you would reach what he never could."
Sarah's eyes glistened—
a single tear hesitating.
Levi watched her—not with pity, but with understanding.
In that moment, he knew why his heart had chosen her.
She had not come for war—
but for something far nobler.
And now, in her features, she carried the legacy of a father who refused to break.
After the silence settled, Armin shifted in his seat, his eyes moving first to Sarah, then to the room—his voice a small flame in the dark.
Armin (earnestly):
"We know words cannot bring back the dead…
but their sacrifices gave us something invaluable:
knowledge that may change the fate of everyone still alive."
Historia nodded slowly, then looked at Sarah—the gaze of a queen who knew some victories came not from battle, but from patience.
Historia (calm, resolute):
"If Jalal were here…
he would be proud of what you're doing now.
What you carry is not the burden of his blood—
but the extension of his strength."
But the moment did not last.
Eren leaned forward abruptly, gripping his chair, his eyes burning.
Eren (with restrained fury):
"Grisha spoke endlessly about resisting oppression.
About justice… about the path.
But he never mentioned Jalal.
Not his name. Not his face.
I saw everything in his memories—but Jalal? Nothing."
He paused, then added—his voice heavy with questions:
Eren:
"Was he protecting us?
Or could the Founder not see Jalal's blood?"
The room shifted uneasily.
Casper smiled—an expression tasting of ash.
Casper:
"Perhaps… Jalal was never meant to be a memory.
He was an ember.
An ember Marley feared to touch—
because it would burn them.
When they realized he would not bend,
they never let him become a symbol."
He looked at Sarah, seeing his fallen friend in her.
Casper:
"It wasn't fear that hid him—it was love.
He knew carrying his name in this world… would cost a life."
Respect filled the silence that followed.
Then Sarah spoke—her voice quiet, but weighted with vow.
Sarah (looking ahead, as if speaking to herself):
"The night they took him…
I learned the world does not give us time to understand—
it forces us to change."
She lifted her eyes, pain shimmering like fragile beauty.
Sarah:
"That night ended my childhood…
and began the only war I've fought since.
I will not let this world take anyone else from me.
Not again."
Levi shifted slightly, watching her from the side—trying to understand what wall she was building… and what door she still left ajar.
Hange, lifting her half-full glass with a playful smile softened by sincerity:
Hange:
"And you look ready to write the next chapter…
your own way, don't you?"
Sarah (half-smiling, her eyes saying everything):
"I'm not trying to change the world…
I'm just trying to protect those I love."
❖ Flashback – The Night Before Sarah and Jalal's Farewell
On the final night before Jalal disappeared, young Sarah sat beside him beneath the glow of a dim lamp.
He sorted his papers, but his heart was with his daughter.
Jalal:
"If anything happens to me, Sarah… remember this:
truth is not claimed with words—but with action."
Sarah (tearful):
"But I don't want you to go… I want you to stay."
Jalal:
"I will stay… here."
(He touched her heart.)
"One day, you will do what I could not.
I believe in you."
He kissed her forehead and left.
It was the last time she saw him alive.
Questions for the Reader:
Was Sarah's decision to remove the necklace a new beginning—or a painful ending?
Will Levi find the courage to acknowledge his feelings before it's too late?
Can a past like Jalal's truly shape the future of the island?
The lights in the hall were dim—
but one look was enough to illuminate everything.
A look from Levi toward Sarah.
Not mere admiration…
but a silent confession.
And Sarah knew—
this night was not ordinary.
For the first time