❖ The Next Morning – A Market Before the Storm
English Version – Full Detailed Translation
The next morning was unlike any other.
The air carried a different scent, as if the breeze itself knew something significant was about to happen.
The sunlight was soft—not burning, not harsh—watching them gently from afar.
In the palace hall, Historia stood near the tall window, gazing at the garden where members of the regiment gathered in an unusual calm.
Then she turned to Sarah and spoke in a warm voice tinged with a quiet plea:
"Would you accompany them to the market?"
Sarah lifted an eyebrow slightly.
"The market?"
Historia nodded.
"Yes… everyone needs clothes suitable for the journey to Marley.
Not just beautiful clothes, but a visual language that represents us.
And you're the only one who knows what truly makes a difference there."
Sarah hadn't expected this request, but deep inside, she felt this task was more than choosing fabrics or picking colors.
It felt closer to shaping the image of the island… through the eyes of the world.
She smiled softly.
"Very well. Let's start with the market… let's give them something to remember us by."
They left the palace gates minutes later. Guards were light, footsteps were calm—
as if the world was giving them one last peaceful walk before swallowing them again.
The market wasn't far, but the laughter along the road made it feel like a much longer moment of borrowed comfort.
Stalls breathed with color, fabrics hung like tiny flags announcing the beginning of a new world.
Sarah walked ahead of them with graceful purpose, pointing out shops, explaining with patient detail the difference between Marley's political attire, formal wear, and those small subtleties that never appear in books… yet can change the course of a negotiation.
She pointed at a dark fabric laid neatly on a wooden table.
"This color is considered formal in political councils.
Don't exaggerate with ornaments—the elegance of Marley is calm balance, not spectacle."
Jean lifted a gray jacket.
"Ah, I get it… we need to look elegant, but without stealing the spotlight?
Perfect. That's exactly my style."
Sasha giggled while trying to wrap a shawl around her shoulders.
"As long as it doesn't make me look hungry…"
Connie snorted.
"You are hungry. Fabric won't fix that."
Laughter erupted.
But Levi, as always, remained silent.
Watching Sarah from a distance, noticing how her voice changed when she explained,
how her eyes brightened when she spoke of her homeland…
and how she hadn't looked his way—not even once.
At some point, he stepped closer without making it noticeable.
He touched a smooth fabric and said quietly:
"Do we really need to look like them… just to convince them we're not monsters?"
Sarah turned to him—
not fast, not slow—
just enough to show she heard the weight behind the question.
"Sometimes… resembling your enemy doesn't mean you're following him.
It means you understand the rules of his game…
and you know how to win it."
He didn't respond, but he stayed beside her.
In a smaller corner of the market, Armin was talking to a vendor about eastern garments.
He whispered to Historia:
"This is what many ancient empires did…
They sent delegations dressed in prestige to plant respect before planting words."
Historia nodded.
"And this time… our envoy understands exactly how to plant an impression."
By the end of the tour, each of them carried a bag:
a jacket, a shirt, a scarf, or even a new pair of shoes.
Sarah stood and watched them, the wind brushing the ends of her hair.
Her voice was calm, but carried the solemnity of a promise:
"The journey begins tomorrow.
Prepare yourselves for everything.
Not just in appearance… but in spirit."
She turned away, and before stepping forward, whispered to herself:
"Sometimes, wars begin in marketplaces…
not battlefields."
──────────
The Return Scene — "Some Silences Are Heavier Than Words"
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the dusty road stretching between the market and the palace.
The others walked ahead, laughing softly, their arms weighed down with bags of new clothes and lighthearted memories from the marketplace.
But the two of them remained behind—
as if the distance itself had chosen to gift them a moment alone.
Sarah held the edge of her scarf, pretending to adjust it—
when in truth, she was watching his steps from the corner of her eye.
He spoke quietly:
— "I thought talking to you would be easier than this."
She answered without looking at him:
— "Maybe you've forgotten how to talk to me."
He paused, then said:
— "I'm only trying to avoid saying something that might ruin everything."
Sarah stopped abruptly and turned to face him.
Her eyes were no longer as gentle as they once had been.
— "Levi… hesitation isn't caution.
It's another form of escape."
He didn't answer.
She resumed walking calmly, but her voice—unsteady despite her control—followed:
— "I don't want anything from you right now.
Just this… if you don't intend to stay, don't come closer.
I'm tired of people who stand in the middle of things."
Her words were knives.
They didn't scream. They didn't slash.
They sank.
He didn't stop walking, but his steps slowed—as if everything inside him was turning into silence.
Just before they reached the palace gates, he said:
— "No one likes standing in the middle, Sarah…
sometimes we just can't find the path."
She lifted her head slowly, as if she'd heard a confession too fragile to respond to.
But she said nothing.
And like all unfinished conversations, the silence ended the way it began—
with their footsteps moving side by side, never touching.
❖ Departure Morning — Between Stone and Destiny
The golden light of dawn slipped shyly between the palace columns, washing the stone courtyard in warmth.
The air was slightly cold, but it carried something else—
anticipation… and the weight of beginnings.
They were all there.
Armin reviewed names and assigned roles.
Mikasa adjusted her scarf.
Jean fixed a broken button on his new jacket.
Sasha carried a bag filled with travel food.
Connie made her laugh, insisting that his perfectly styled hair would surely ruin everything.
Hange moved among them with her lenses and notes, capturing expressions as if preserving history itself.
And Levi stood in the shadow of the wall—arms crossed, silent.
Not distant, but watchful.
Their final guardian in the quiet.
**
Then Sarah emerged from the palace.
She walked slowly, wearing an elegant dress beneath a refined coat.
Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders, and her eyes shone despite exhaustion.
Everyone who saw her felt it—
she was no longer just Sarah.
She had become a symbol.
She stood before them and spoke with steady depth:
— "When we leave these walls, we won't represent ourselves alone.
We will represent the island… the blood, the pain… and the possibility."
— "Marley is not merely an enemy.
It is a mirror.
And we go to it not for revenge, but to understand—
and perhaps… to rewrite the story."
Silence followed.
Then she continued:
— "We leave as one team… and we return as something stronger.
There is no room for mistakes this time.
Your words will be swords.
Your silence will be a scale.
And your actions will decide whether we are seen as humans… or monsters."
❖ Farewell Scene – Historia & Nicolo
Historia stepped closer to them, wearing a simple white dress—
the kind worn by a queen who does not need a throne to command respect.
She looked into each of their eyes, one by one, and said softly:
"You do not represent an island.
You represent our only hope of escaping this endless spiral.
Return to us alive…
or at the very least, return with the truth."
Then her gaze settled on Sarah.
"I always thought I was alone," she added quietly,
"but you showed me that leadership is not about raising one's voice—
it is about enduring in silence."
Sarah bowed her head in respect.
The single tear she allowed herself did not fall—
and no one noticed it…
except Levi.
❖ Nicolo's Farewell — "Hearts That Do Not Know How to Hide"
Nicolo had remained silent for most of the time.
He was never the type to speak when his heart was already full.
But when the moment of departure came, he stepped toward Sarah—
slowly, deliberately,
as if each step pulled a memory back to the surface:
laughter, arguments, shared experiments,
and a love that had never been spoken aloud.
He stopped in front of her,
his blue eyes wavering between strength and fracture.
He turned first to Levi and extended his hand.
"Captain…"
Levi hesitated—then took it.
Nicolo didn't let go.
Instead, he leaned in slightly and said, loud enough for all to hear:
"I entrust her to you."
Silence fell.
Then he added:
"If politics betray you, do not betray her.
She doesn't need someone to guard her body…
she needs someone to guard her heart."
The words were simple—
but they struck Levi like an unexpected blow.
Before Levi could answer, Nicolo had already turned back to Sarah.
From his pocket, he took out a small metal pin shaped like a soaring eagle.
On its back, a hidden engraving read:
"Your strength is not in becoming like them—
but in remaining yourself."
He fastened it to the left shoulder of her coat and whispered:
"This is not just a symbol of strength.
It's a promise.
We never forget those we fight for."
Then—
to everyone's astonishment—
he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Sarah did not speak.
She did not pull away.
She did not look at Levi.
But her heart heard everything.
❖ Levi's Moment — "A Jealousy He Had Never Known"
Levi stood behind them, his shoulder slack for the first time,
his chest holding something that had never fully formed before.
Jealousy was not a word taught in combat training.
He had always believed pain had only one flavor—
Until he saw her being honored with words he could not say,
protected by a gesture he had never thought to give.
He looked at the ground.
Then at the sky.
Then at Nicolo.
That royal guard…
knew how to speak what he felt.
Levi, on the other hand—
every time he tried to say something,
the sentence suffocated somewhere
between his heart and his throat.
But Nicolo was not a fool.
Before returning to the palace, he passed by Levi and said calmly—
with neither softness nor cruelty:
"You still have time.
But not much."
Then he smiled—
as if granting him permission to begin…
or warning him of what he stood to lose.
❖ Kasper's Moment — "From the Ruins of Memory, a Path Is Born"
Before the team boarded the carriage heading toward the harbor,
Kasper made his way into the square with hesitant steps—
yet in his eyes lived something unseen before:
resolve.
He stopped before them, one hand pressed to his chest,
looking at Sarah as if seeing her for the first time.
"Sarah…"
Everyone turned.
"I'm sorry… I'm late."
Armin asked gently,
"Late for what?"
Kasper lifted his gaze, his voice rough with buried weight:
"My memory finally led me back… to something you all need to know."
He walked straight toward Sarah, his eyes searching her face—
as though tracing the echoes of Jalal, her father.
"Your father… didn't destroy all the papers."
Sarah gasped.
"What?"
"Before his death… he left fragments with a friend of his.
A man named Anton."
A heavy silence swallowed the square.
Kasper continued, his voice low, as if repeating words spoken long ago:
"He told him:
If I live, I'll come reclaim them.
If I die… someone worthy will find them."
His eyes moved from Levi, to Historia, then back to Sarah.
"That legacy isn't just paper.
It's a key.
I don't know how, or why—
but I know it holds answers greater than we imagine."
Sarah whispered, shaken:
"Where is he? Where does Anton live?"
Kasper answered quietly:
"In the north… near the cold mountain borders.
A simple man, living alone in a wooden cabin.
Your father trusted him as he trusted no one else."
Hange ran a hand through her hair in disbelief.
"And this comes out now? Two hours before departure?"
Kasper nodded slowly.
"I know. That's why I came immediately."
❖ A Rare Moment of Truth
Then Kasper hesitated, swallowing hard, before his voice cracked:
"I wanted to go with you to Marley…
I wanted to search for my family. For faces I remember."
His eyes glistened.
"But I'm afraid."
He continued, barely holding himself together:
"Afraid they're dead…
or worse—alive, and no longer remember me."
Sarah stepped closer and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"You're part of this team—
even if you're not on the ship with us."
Jean added, surprisingly soft:
"Guard the castle until we return.
And if we don't… go to Anton yourself."
Kasper smiled faintly and nodded.
Before leaving, he handed Sarah a small piece of paper—
coordinates sketched roughly in fading ink.
"This is all I could remember…
the rest is in your hands."
❖ Scene — A Song That Revives the Heart
The morning had barely begun to breathe
when the carriages rolled toward the coast.
Hooves echoed against the dirt paths,
as though trampling what remained of memory itself.
Sarah sat at the back of the carriage,
her hair dancing in the wind,
her eyes fixed on the gray horizon—
the same horizon that once hid a sister,
a promise,
and a childhood.
No one spoke.
But everyone was thinking.
❖ At Wall Maria
When they reached the outskirts of Wall Maria—
that stone beast that had witnessed their births and their deaths—
the caravan stopped, in a silence that felt like prayer.
A small fire was lit amid the rubble,
between stones that had heard the first scream of terror
and the last unspoken will of a nameless fallen soldier.
Hange sat on the trunk of a dead tree and released a sigh
heavier than the pack on her back.
"Do you remember?" she said softly.
"When we believed a single wall could protect an entire world?
I believed in science more than anything…
until I saw eyes extinguished one by one—
Erwin's eyes…"
She lifted her gaze to the sky,
where the stars were not shining—
they were weeping.
—
Jean, brushing dust from his boots, looked at the stones and said:
"Here… I lost my first dream.
And here, I learned that dreams themselves can be a curse."
—
Connie, who rarely spoke without joking, stared into the fire and whispered, his voice trembling:
"I went back to my village… my mother was there.
But she didn't recognize me.
I stood in front of her—
a Titan with lifeless eyes—
and I couldn't say a single word.
My father… my siblings…
Every night, they visit me without sound.
I only wish they've forgiven me."
—
Sasha, who wasn't eating this time, murmured:
"I used to run from everything.
From war. From goodbyes. From hunger.
But I couldn't run from the final farewell."
—
Jean spoke again, his voice cracked:
"All I ever wanted was a simple life.
A home. A family. A window facing peace.
But instead, I wake every day
to open graves."
—
Mikasa moved closer to the fire, sat beside Eren, and said:
"We've lost so much.
But each of us remained for a reason.
Survival isn't coincidence.
It's a calling."
—
Eren, who had been staring at his hands all along, whispered:
"What if there is no tomorrow?
What if we're not fighting to win—
but only to avoid dying today?"
He looked at his palms,
as if the blood that once stained them
had never truly dried.
—
Armin, his voice sounding like hope clinging to its last thread, said as he pressed a hand to his chest:
"They taught us not to surrender.
Erwin. Grisha. Marco…
They didn't die to disappear.
They died to stay with us.
In every step. In every decision."
—
Levi, sitting alone away from the circle, didn't look at anyone.
But his voice cut through the stillness like a blade:
"All this grief won't bring anyone back.
The dead are dead.
Those who remain must move forward—
or they are no different from the dirt beneath our feet."
Then he glanced at Sarah, just for a moment,
as if asking:
Will we go on… or be buried here?
❖ The Song — When a Voice Tells the Story
The air held only the sound of wood groaning as it burned,
and the wind brushing their faces
as if touching their losses without comforting them.
They sat around a fire fading
as memory fades when it overflows.
No one spoke—
but inside each of them, a story was screaming.
Then… Sarah lifted her head.
She didn't speak at first.
She looked at them with the eyes of a woman
who knew time had never been fair to them.
She closed her eyes,
as if searching for that thin thread
connecting the world she left behind
to the world she would face tomorrow.
She took a soft breath—
not to speak,
but to confess.
And then she sang.
It wasn't a voice.
It was an ancient prayer,
rising from the throat of one who had longed
and received no answer from the roads:
"Peace… peace, what do you say to a truce?
Peace… peace, this ordeal has lasted too long…"
Her words didn't come only from her mouth,
but from her features,
from her trembling hands,
from the air itself.
It was as if she were reciting
a forgotten verse over the embers of home.
"The world has grown tight…
Without you, my days are imposed.
My home is your eyes…
Peace… peace."
Eren's breath faltered.
His head lowered—
as if the words pierced a place
no one had reached in years.
"Take me back to my home…
Peace… peace.
I beg you—a truce…
Peace… peace.
This strife has gone on too long."
The words spread across the ground like warmth.
Mikasa felt the cold leave her bones
as heat traveled from Sarah's hand to hers,
from heart to eyes,
tears forming without shame.
Jean swallowed hard.
Something lodged in his throat—
called father,
mother,
the life I never lived.
"Without you, light turns dark…
A poet's home is broken.
My land is your heart…
Peace… peace.
Return me to my land…
Peace… peace."
The song felt like a gentle funeral.
A prayer for those who died standing—
and those still standing,
unsure why.
Even Levi—
who had never faltered before the Rumbling,
nor stepped back from death—
lowered his gaze.
And felt something strange.
As if the voice knew him.
Knew Kuchel.
Knew Erwin.
Knew the childhood
he was never given time to remember.
—
When the song ended,
the silence that followed
was more powerful than any battle they'd fought.
Even the fire seemed ashamed of its light,
lowering its flames
so as not to disturb what the melody had awakened.
Armin lifted his head, eyes flushed with unshed tears:
"What language is that?
It feels older than sorrow itself."
Sarah smiled softly, longing echoing in her voice:
"Arabic. My father's language.
And this song…
was his hope when the world closed in.
A truce. A home.
A homeland in the heart of the one you love."
Jean said hoarsely:
"You sang as if you were telling each of our stories.
Ours… before we wore this uniform."
Sarah looked into the fire and whispered:
"Perhaps because grief…
is the only language that needs no translation."
—
And that night,
nothing was stronger than a song—
born from a living heart—
to remind them that life,
despite everything…
was still worth singing for.
❖ A Night to Be Remembered
Night descended upon them like a curtain woven of quiet longing, broken only by the crackle of fire and the breath of wind brushing against the edges of the tents.
Exhaustion claimed everyone—they slept the way soldiers do, fastening their hearts to the fragile hope of tomorrow.
Everyone… except Levi.
He sat apart, half of him bathed in firelight, the other swallowed by shadow—as though his own heart were divided between moving closer… or staying away.
Her eyes were closed, yet she wasn't fully asleep.
Sarah, leaning against a small bag, looked as if she were sheltering herself from the weight of the world inside a corner of silence.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders, and the warmth had left her face after the song—like something within her had been spent with that melody.
Her voice… Levi thought.
It wasn't just singing.
It was as if someone had read aloud the letters of those who never returned.
He approached silently, making no sound.
He removed his gray coat and gently draped it over her shoulders.
She opened her eyes softly—half surprise, half gratitude.
She looked at him, but said nothing.
Yet that look…
was enough to pierce his armor.
It said everything without a single word:
I understand you… even when you say nothing.
He sat beside her without turning.
His eyes fixed on the fire.
Sparks rose like memories—untouchable, yet painful all the same.
He spoke quietly,
as if afraid words might shatter the stillness:
"You don't know how to take care of yourself."
The sentence was simple—
but it was a confession.
A buried worry.
A rare tenderness from a man accustomed to losing more than he ever kept.
She didn't reply.
But a faint smile brushed the corner of her lips—as if she understood.
He didn't need an answer.
He simply stayed there, arms wrapped around his knees,
waiting for the night to pass,
guarding the silence beside her—
as though her presence alone made the darkness bearable.
That night was different.
Not because of the song,
nor because memory had come alive again…
But because something unseen had happened.
Something that couldn't be spoken—only felt.
Perhaps that simple moment—
a coat on her shoulders,
a whisper in the shadows,
a shared silence—
was what made Levi realize that, despite everything…
he still had a heart capable of worrying.
And that there was still someone
worthy of that worry.
❖ At Dawn – Beyond the Walls
Dawn was still rubbing sleep from its eyes when the carriages halted beside Wall Maria.
Pale light filtered through the trees, as if blessing the first step forward.
A gentle wind passed above them, carrying the scent of damp forest, brushing the edges of their hearts—as if asking whether they were truly ready to cross.
The ship was waiting.
There, at the final boundary of their world, Hizuru's elegant vessel rested against the shore—like a gate crossed not only by feet, but by fate itself.
They boarded in silence.
No loud goodbyes.
Only quiet glances, as if words might betray what they felt.
At the back of one carriage, Sarah sat between Mikasa and Levi.
Her eyes never left the horizon.
She wasn't just watching a long road…
but a memory she had once buried in Marley's soil.
Her heart was pressed between two fears:
the fear of returning,
and the fear that those she traveled for
might now exist only as memory.
A low voice beside her broke the silence like a breeze:
"Are you alright?"
She hadn't expected it to be Levi.
She looked at him, a small smile pushing through the tension.
"I'm fine… enough for a journey like this."
He replied in his usual blunt tone, yet warmth hid between the words:
"A long journey needs a clear mind. Don't let the past unsettle you."
She turned back to the road and murmured, as if to herself:
"I'm not thinking about the past…
but about what comes after it.
And that I won't run from it anymore.
If pain is the gateway to healing—
then I'm ready to walk through it."
Levi studied her face for a moment.
He saw a woman who was no longer who she had been—
a woman carrying wounds in her voice,
and rare courage in her silence.
He said quietly:
"Pain never ends, Sarah.
But it's the only proof that you're still alive."
She looked at him with soft determination in her eyes, then smiled faintly.
"I want to live… not just survive."
With her final word,
the carriages began to move—slowly at first, then steady—
cutting a path not only through distance,
but through a new meaning of survival.
They were leaving behind the walls that imprisoned them,
and approaching a world they had never known.
One gate stood between them and everything.
But they were no longer who they had been.
❖ Flashback – The Taste of Memory in a Small Bag
The final night before departing toward Wall Maria was quiet and still, as if the stars themselves held their breath out of respect for what stirred inside Sarah's heart.
She sat alone in a small corner of the palace under dim lamplight, gently cutting dates and placing them into cloth pouches, adding almonds, tying each one with a soft knot.
Her fingers moved with care—
but her heart was elsewhere.
In that distant home,
where her father used to prepare this mixture every evening, saying:
"There's strength in dates and almonds…
and memory, too."
She had kept a small pouch from that memory in her bag since her first day on the island.
But now—standing on the edge of her past and her fate—
she felt it was time to share it with those who had become part of her heart.
That night, as everyone slept beneath the open sky near Wall Maria,
Sarah moved quietly among them, placing the small pouches beside their heads—
silent gifts needing no explanation.
Morning brought surprised murmurs:
"What's this?"
"Dates? I've never seen these before."
"The taste is strange… but good."
Sasha laughed as she devoured hers, while Jean raised an eyebrow.
"Is this some ancient fruit from a lost civilization?"
Levi was the last to open his.
He looked at it without expression.
At first, his heart didn't understand—
but then he smelled it.
Nothing like anything he had known.
He asked quietly, staring at the brown fruit:
"What is this?"
She answered warmly:
"Dates. From my old homeland.
My father used to prepare them with almonds in the afternoon.
He said they refresh the heart… and warm the memory."
Levi looked at the pouch again.
He didn't eat it.
Instead, he carefully retied the knot—
and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
In that moment,
there was no need for explanation.
He simply… understood.
Did this chapter make you feel the weight of leaving home?
Poll options:
Yes — deeply emotional
Yes — but quietly
Not yet (I'm waiting for more)
I felt something different