I'm feeling a little vulnerable today.
This story has reached 7k reads, but I don't always know what it makes you feel.
If you have a moment, please leave a word about this chapter.
Your honesty means more than you know.
Thank you for reading
The morning was still, as though the night had never truly left.
In the palace hall, where light slipped shyly between the stone columns, a horse stopped at the gate.
The envoy dismounted quietly—a man with unfamiliar features, belonging neither fully to Marley nor to the island.
Something in his eyes said it plainly: this message weighs more than my shoulders can bear.
He stepped forward and asked for Nicolo.
At that moment, Nicolo was in the kitchen, cutting bread with half his mind and the other half lingering on Sarah.
When his name was called, he wiped his hands and stepped out.
The envoy handed him a sealed envelope, stamped with Zeke's insignia.
The man spoke in a low voice:
"Zeke said this must be delivered only to someone the Queen trusts."
Nicolo examined the envelope for a moment, read the name, then lifted his gaze.
"Historia…"
He rushed toward the royal wing.
The door opened without ceremony—as though time itself did not allow for protocol.
Historia was seated by the window, reading a book on the history of kingdoms.
When she saw Nicolo raise the envelope, she stood immediately.
She read it quickly, then closed her eyes slowly.
For the first time in days, she smiled.
She said calmly:
"Tell everyone—there will be a meeting after breakfast. This announcement cannot wait."
Then she added, gripping the letter tightly:
"And bring Sarah. Do not leave her alone."
To Queen Historia Reiss,
I arrived at the Friedman family estate—Sarah and Layla's grandmother's home—three days ago.
The matter was dangerous, but the intervention of her uncle, Luka, settled everything.
Layla has been removed from the medical camp.
She was exhausted, but she is safe.
She was not tortured, though the psychological pressure placed upon her was severe.
She is now in a spacious room overlooking the garden, surrounded by strict but respectful care.
I spoke with her and asked whether she wished to send a message.
She wrote it in her own hand and requested that it reach her sister without alteration or delay.
I have enclosed it.
I advise caution. Marley will not remain idle for long.
But for now, there is a glimmer of hope—and Sarah deserves to see it.
Zeke Yeager
3 November / 854
The morning was gray—neither sun nor rain.
An unsettling stillness settled over the palace, as if the walls themselves knew something greater than words was about to arrive.
Soft knocks echoed at her chamber door, followed by Nicolo's hushed voice:
"Sarah… Historia has called for an urgent meeting. It concerns Layla."
Her face drained of color.
She did not speak.
She simply rose slowly and wrapped her scarf with care, as if preparing to face her past.
Her heart was not beating.
It was warning her.
As though it already knew.
Elsewhere in the palace, Hange addressed the Scouts in clipped words:
"A message has arrived from Zeke… and it contains something for Sarah. Everyone, gather."
And so they all assembled in the great hall—the royal council chamber, a place that had not held such a gathering in a time of war without a throne.
They sat.
The scrape of wooden chairs, the rustle of fabric, the breath of restraint—everything was present except words.
Historia stood at the center, dressed in dark cloth, her hair tied back, holding two envelopes.
She raised the first and began to read aloud, her voice steady:
"To Queen Historia Reiss,
I arrived at the Friedman family estate—Sarah and Layla's grandmother's home—three days ago…
…"
Her voice echoed through the chamber.
Silence followed—heavy, absolute.
Sarah stood frozen.
She did not move.
She did not blink.
Then she stepped forward slowly, as though walking across years of ash.
Her voice emerged hoarse—not pleading, not defending—only truthful:
"After my father and mother died, my mother's family left us in an orphanage.
We were two little girls.
When I turned ten, they finally decided to take us into their home.
Yes—we lived comfortably.
But there was no love.
Only rules. Education. Schedules. Commands."
She inhaled.
Looked down.
Then lifted her face as though exposing a wound that never healed:
"When I was twenty, they decided to marry me off to a man they chose—from their world, their class.
I refused. I rebelled. I took Layla… and left forever.
Ten years.
They did not ask.
They did not search.
They did not send a single letter.
And now?
Now they suddenly want to save Layla?"
Her words stunned the room.
Even Levi—who had shown no reaction until now—slowly raised his gaze, as if seeing Sarah anew.
Armin, seated beside Eren, tried to mend the fracture:
"Maybe… things have changed, Sarah.
Zeke said your uncle Luka intervened.
That might mean they're… trying to correct their mistake."
But Sarah replied, her voice sharp, loaded with a lifetime of wounds:
"Where were they when my father was killed?
Where were they when my mother died?
Where were they when Layla and I cried beneath the orphanage roof—and no one came?"
Hange stepped forward cautiously and said:
"Perhaps they're trying to fix what they broke.
I know wounds don't heal with a letter… but maybe this is a first step."
Nicolo approached then, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, his voice grounded and sincere:
"What matters now is that Layla is safe.
And we will protect her—whether from her family or from Marley.
I promise."
Sarah did not respond.
Her gaze was fixed on the second envelope—black, sealed with the Friedman family crest.
Historia stepped forward and handed it to her without a word.
Sarah did not take it immediately.
She hesitated.
Then, finally, she reached out.
She opened the envelope slowly—
as though fearing the past itself might spill out,
and she would not survive facing it.
She heard:
"My dearest Sarah,
I know these words will reach you one day. And even if they do not, their feeling will.
I never expected us to be torn apart like this, yet today I have returned… to the place where everything once began.
The camp is over. Do not ask how—just know that Luka did the impossible.
Grandmother is still the same: unyielding on the outside, quietly breaking on the inside.
Do not worry about me. There are many hearts here that beat for you without ever having known you.
As for me… there is one thing I want you to remember. Whether you read this from Zeke or from someone else, know that I am completely fine. Just remember the word we used when we were children:
Lemon Moon.
Yes… Lemon Moon. Do not laugh! You will remember the story, and I know you will smile despite everything.
Let this word be your sign that I am safe. And I will remain so—until you return.
Lilo."
In that instant…
The letter slipped from Sarah's hand, as though she could no longer bear its weight.
She gasped—the gasp of someone who had not cried in years—
and collapsed to her knees.
Her hands covered her face,
and a silent scream tore its way out of her chest without sound.
"Lemon Moon…" she whispered.
"She always said it when we were afraid… when we were lost."
Mikasa and Sasha rushed to her side.
Sasha knelt beside her and whispered gently:
"Leila is safe, Sarah… Leila is back."
Levi remained standing where he was.
He did not move.
But inside his chest…
something caved in.
Sarah knelt on the floor, her hands trembling, tears washing over her face.
Mikasa bent down quietly, picked up the fallen letter, and sat beside her.
She began reading aloud—softly, shakily—her voice carrying the tremor of emotion.
There was no sound in the hall except Leila's words, flowing from Mikasa's lips as though they were being carved into the air itself.
Every sentence struck Sarah's heart like an arrow.
Every line melted another layer of ice from her eyes.
Then Mikasa spoke again:
"Just remember the word we used when we were children…
Lemon Moon."
The room stopped breathing.
Even Hange—who usually hid her emotions behind teasing smiles—lifted her eyebrows in pure, unguarded surprise.
"Lemon… Moon?" she asked softly.
"What does that mean?"
A heavy silence fell.
Then Sarah slowly lifted her head.
Through her tears, she smiled—a smile soaked in truth.
"That… is our secret word."
She looked around at them, her eyes red, her voice raw and sincere:
"Leila and I used to invent codes no one else could understand.
'Lemon Moon' was the word we used to reassure each other… even in the darkest moments."
She swallowed.
"We only used it when we were in danger—
and when we were still alive."
Leila is safe.
This message is from her.
No one else could know that word.
Another silence filled the room—
not one of doubt, but of certainty.
Armin whispered, as if something massive had finally lifted from his chest:
"She's alive… truly alive."
A tear slipped down Jean's face.
Connie ran a hand through his hair, stunned, as though the world had just begun rearranging itself.
Levi did not move.
But he closed his eyes—for just a moment.
And for the first time in a long while…
he felt that Sarah was no longer alone in her war.
After a beat, Hange lifted an eyebrow again and gestured toward the letter with gentle curiosity:
"Lemon Moon? What does it really mean? A code?"
A faint smile flickered on Sarah's lips—brief, fragile.
She wiped her tears with a trembling hand and spoke, her voice heavy with memory:
"When I was twelve… and Leila was seven…
we spent a summer night in the back garden of our grandfather's house.
The sky was clear, filled with stars, and the moon was full—lighting everything around us."
"We were eating dried lemon slices—those our grandmother used to make and coat with sugar.
And in a moment of childish nonsense, Leila looked up at the moon, bit into a lemon slice, and whispered to me:
'Sarah… do you know? The moon tastes sour tonight.'
Then she laughed until she nearly fell over."
"I stared at her and said,
'That's ridiculous, Leila. The moon can't be eaten.'
And she answered, still laughing:
'This isn't an ordinary moon. It's the Lemon Moon.
When it appears, even bitterness becomes gentle.
When you see it, you'll remember that everything passes—
even the days that hurt.'"
Sarah paused, her gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the walls.
"From that night on… 'Lemon Moon' became a promise between us.
If one of us said it, it meant she was still alive…
and that she was waiting, no matter how long the separation."
Her voice broke.
"No one ever knew that name…
except me… and Leila."
When Sarah finished, a profound silence settled over the hall—
not one of confusion, but of deep emotion.
Then Historia stepped forward, knelt beside her, and pulled her into a firm embrace.
Sasha joined from the other side.
Mikasa sat behind her, arms wrapped around her shoulders.
Hange placed a gentle hand on her head and whispered:
"You are not alone anymore, Sarah…
We are here. Always."
Sarah could not speak.
She closed her eyes, feeling—perhaps for the first time in years—that she was surrounded by sisters not born of her mother, but holding her as if she were part of them.
Finally, she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and stood.
Her voice was soft—but steady, resolute:
"This afternoon… will be the first day of training."
She looked at Hange, something between gratitude and resolve in her eyes.
"I do not forget my promises."
❖ The Back Garden — At Midday
The garden was silent, save for the trees' quiet sighs as the breeze brushed past them,
and the dry leaves whispering beneath the feet of those long gone.
Sarah sat at the edge of the stone bench, her shoulders slightly bent, her eyes still—
as though the tears had exhausted her.
Between her fingers was a folded sheet of paper…
its words had already crossed their boundaries and settled deep in her heart, making it tremble.
She wasn't waiting for anyone.
But something in the air shifted.
And when she lifted her gaze—she saw him.
Levi stood at the far end of the path, watching her without a word.
His eyes were weary, as though they had slept in the heart of a battlefield,
yet within them lived a tenderness he had never dared to confess.
He approached slowly, careful not to disturb their shared silence,
then sat a short distance away on the same bench.
He didn't look at her—
but at the ancient tree before them, as though he were speaking to shadows instead of her.
Long moments passed.
Then he spoke, his voice low, almost a sigh:
"A code like that… Lemon Moon…
is never spoken unless the heart is searching for shelter."
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she turned to him and whispered:
"And my heart has always been Lily's shelter."
A cold breeze slipped between them.
Levi reached into his coat pocket, pulled something small out, then stood without a sound.
He left beside her a clean handkerchief…
and a small yellow lemon—
as if plucked not from a tree, but from memory itself.
He looked at her one last time, eyes broken without truly breaking.
"Don't cry too much," he said, his voice betraying concern despite itself.
"We need you strong."
Then he walked away, disappearing into corridors planted with silence.
But when he had gone far enough—
when he was out of her sight—
he lifted his head to the grey sky and murmured within himself:
If only I could… hold you.
Sarah stared at the yellow lemon beside her.
It wasn't a fruit.
It was a message.
A silent sign the color of sunlight—
like a promise that couldn't be spoken,
and like a man who only admits the truth once he has stepped away.
In his eyes, the lemon was never just a symbol.
It was proof that he understood.
That he loved.
And that he stayed.
❖ The Hall — When Truth Takes Its Seat
Sarah entered the hall with steady steps, free of hesitation,
as though the ground itself had acknowledged the weight she carried.
Autumn light filtered through the tall windows, illuminating dust suspended in the air—
like a truth preparing to reveal itself.
Everyone was waiting.
Historia sat without guards, without a crown—
only a notebook and a pen in her hands,
as if seeking survival through understanding rather than authority.
Jean and Sasha murmured something light, then quickly fell silent.
Armin clasped his fingers before his mouth.
Mikasa leaned forward slightly.
Niccolo rested against the wall, arms folded, wearing a cautious smile.
Connie looked lost in thought.
Jean tried to focus, his eyes drifting beyond words.
In the corner—Levi.
Leaning against the wall, arms tense, eyes sharp,
measuring every breath taken in the room.
Eren was there too.
Silent.
As if he had come to witness, not to listen.
And before them all sat Kasper—
the soldier who had once lost his voice to injustice,
and now sat to reclaim it through truth.
—
Sarah stood before them.
Her black notebook in hand, yet no darkness on her face.
There was something there that resembled life after bleeding.
She spoke calmly:
"Official meetings between nations are not courtesies.
They are survival tests."
She looked at them one by one.
"A single wrong word can open a war…
and a single right sentence can save a nation."
—
She paused, as if carrying them two thousand years back.
"But to know how to speak…
we must first understand who we are."
—
Silence filled the room.
She continued:
"Two thousand years ago, there was a girl named Ymir.
She was deceived. Enslaved. Then immortalized."
"After her death, her body shattered into nine entities—
called Titans.
And whoever inherited one became a tool in the hands of thrones."
"King Fritz the First, when he realized this power would destroy the world,
fled to Paradis
and built the walls… from bones."
—
Sasha gasped softly.
Armin frowned, mentally redrawing maps of history.
Sarah continued:
"He threatened the world:
Come closer… and you will be crushed beneath the feet of the Titans.
But he never acted.
He wanted isolation.
He wanted escape from sin."
—
Hange asked as she wrote:
"Was that regret… or a delayed plan?"
Sarah met her gaze.
"Perhaps both.
History is not written by innocence alone…
but by fear."
—
Then she stood straighter.
"Marley is a power without roots.
It built its empire on hatred of Eldians."
"But its true strength lies not only in Titans—
but in something far more dangerous:
control of the narrative."
—
Jean asked:
"And its weakness?"
Sarah replied:
"Marley's weakness is its victims.
The Eldians who suffer in silence—
and who, if they understand the truth, may rise."
She looked at Kasper, who lowered his head.
He lifted his eyes, voice trembling:
"We are forced to wear marks that distinguish us.
We live in walled districts.
We teach our children their blood is a curse—
and that redemption lies only in dying for wars."
Silence fell like stone.
Then Kasper whispered:
"We thought we were fighting for the world…
but we were fighting to prove we deserved to live."
Sarah's voice softened, yet carried immense weight:
"That is why I am here.
Because I saw what poisoned stories did to my sister…
and to my people.
Because I lived behind Marley's walls
and heard the tales that reshape humans into weapons
and turn children into projects of hatred."
She raised her eyes, unwavering:
"My sister and I are not from the internment zones.
We are children of Marley—
but our roots run deeper…
into Arab blood that does not submit to a single identity."
"We are a mixture.
And that makes us stronger.
Stronger because we do not represent a side—
but a bridge."
She paused, then said firmly:
"And this strength is not for war.
It is for truth."
She looked at Historia, then Levi, and said honestly:
"Our father, Jalal, did not raise us to be soldiers.
Until his last breath, he believed every people deserved freedom.
And he saw something special in the Eldians…
A nation drained dry…
a world never given a chance at peace."
She raised her hand toward the map:
"There are two clans untouched by the Founder's will:
The Ackermans…
and the Eastern clan."
She looked at Mikasa—then Levi.
"You are not bound by the voice in the Paths.
But inside you…
something awakens when danger approaches those you love."
Levi didn't speak.
But his foot shifted—just slightly.
Armin asked:
"Does that mean their power is artificial?"
Sarah shook her head.
"No.
It is rooted.
The Ackermans are a counter-legacy.
Something the king himself created…
then regretted."
—
She continued:
"As for the Eastern clan…
they are descendants of a lost alliance.
And the Tybur family—
holders of the War Hammer Titan—
were the first to betray Ymir.
They allied with Marley…
and wrote the first narrative condemning blood itself."
—
Niccolo asked quietly:
"Did you know all of this… alone?"
Sarah gave a joyless smile:
"No one knows anything alone.
I simply chose to open the book
when others chose to burn it."
—
She whispered:
"The Titans were never the evil.
The true loss…
is forgetting who you were
before you became one of them."
—
At that moment, Kasper stood—for the first time.
He said calmly:
"I will write what I heard today.
Even if it costs me my life."
—
Sarah looked at them all, then said:
"This is not a lesson in diplomacy.
It is the beginning of a new chapter
in writing history.
This time…
with our own hands."
—
In the corner, Eren closed his eyes.
And no one could tell—
whether he was sleeping…
or remembering everything.
❖ After the First Lesson
When the first lesson ended, Sarah announced a break.
She took her cigarette and moved toward the balcony in silence, as if searching for something without a name—
a fragile ceasefire between what she taught… and what she feared.
She lit the cigarette, lifted her gaze toward the horizon, and exhaled slowly,
as though she were trying to release everything that had never been said.
The smoke faded gently… just like her voice, which no longer seemed to reach anyone.
From afar, Levi saw her.
She was unlike any woman he had ever known.
She resembled war itself—
yet in the way she stood, there was a peace that belonged to no one else.
That contradiction pulled him toward her without resistance.
He stepped closer.
He stood beside her, wrapped in a heavy silence.
She did not turn.
At last, he spoke, his voice low, burdened with doubt:
"You know everything about the Ackermans, don't you?
Then you must know… that I'm nothing more than a weapon of war."
Sarah did not answer immediately.
She looked at the cigarette between her fingers, then dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath her heel.
She raised her eyes to him and said:
"No one is born a weapon, Levi.
War steals our names and gives us numbers—
but your bloodline… is an awakened one.
It does not sleep in the arms of lies."
Then she added, her voice softer—yet far heavier:
"You do not bend to anyone's will.
That is what sets you apart."
At that moment, she removed her cap—
the very thing that gave her strength.
She smiled.
A very small smile.
Not polite.
Not decorative.
It was like a faint light slipping between two clouds—
seen only by those who had waited for it a long time.
In that instant, something strange stirred inside Levi's chest.
As if he had gained the whole world—
or remembered, for the first time, that he had never truly been alone in it.
After Sarah spoke of Marley's history, of Eldian suffering, of Ymir and King Fritz,
a heavy silence settled over the hall, as though everyone needed a moment to breathe after such truth and loss.
But she was not finished.
She lifted her gaze to the gathered faces and spoke again, her voice deeper now, tinged with something like longing:
"In other lands, every people has its story…
every race its wound, its pulse.
But the Arabs…"
She paused, choosing her words from the shards of an old memory, then continued:
"The Arabs were displaced.
Stripped of their homelands as a tree is torn from its roots.
War follows them—
even when they carry no weapons.
Even their children are born knowing the word exile
before they ever learn the meaning of home."
She looked down briefly, then went on, quieter now—but sharper:
"My father used to say there was something strange in our blood.
He believed there was a secret in how this people survives despite everything—
a secret that cannot be explained… only felt."
At those words, every gaze turned instinctively toward Eren,
as if something unseen had thickened the air.
And Eren smiled.
A brief smile.
A strange one.
Then he said, calmly, deeply:
"Jalal… may have been right.
Since you entered our lives, something has shifted within the Founder's system.
Something has changed—
something I can't even explain."
The room froze.
Hange stared in astonishment.
Mikasa knitted her brows.
Levi lifted his eyes toward Sarah—without a word.
And Sarah…
She remained silent.
A silence like smoke—
unseen,
but lingering long after.
And so, the first lesson ended.
Yet no one stood.
No one asked a question.
As though they all felt it at once—
This had not been a lesson in diplomacy.
It was a lesson in who they truly were.