The Beginning of the Journey — "The Road Doesn't Tremble… but Hearts Do"
When the engines of the two cars came to life, the sound felt alien to ears accustomed to the rhythm of hooves.
No scent of hay, no neighing—
only a smooth, almost unsettling glide over the stone-paved road.
The Second Car — Laughter on Moving Ground
"This is so strange!" Connie exclaimed, gripping his seat.
"I'm used to flying off the saddle whenever we turn too hard!"
Hange laughed, running her fingers across the dashboard in awe.
"You know what? This is better than our horses. It doesn't get tired, doesn't need rest, and you don't have to clean its hooves.
Though… unfortunately, you can't pat the engine."
Jean stared out the window, mesmerized.
"Are the trees moving fast… or are we?
I feel like I'm trapped inside a painting being dragged forward at a ridiculous speed."
Armin studied the car with a scholar's fascination, fingertips brushing the worn panel as he murmured, almost reverently:
"Maybe this is the difference between us and them…
They preserve the world's memory inside machines,
while we carry ours inside walls."
The First Car — A Different Kind of Silence
In the first car, there was no laughter.
Sarah held the wheel with steady hands, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Sunlight reflected off the windshield, illuminating her features with a calm that refused disturbance.
Levi sat beside her, arms crossed, his gaze shifting between the road and the side mirror.
Everything about him was silent—
except his thoughts.
From the back seat, Sasha finally broke the quiet with her usual brightness:
"Sarah, it's obvious you know how to drive!
When did you learn?"
Sarah answered without turning her head, her voice soft—like autumn air:
"Years ago.
My grandfather believed a woman should know how to drive on any road…
even one whose destination she doesn't know."
Levi raised an eyebrow slightly.
"And when was the last time you drove?"
She didn't answer immediately.
She took a slow breath, then said quietly:
"Seven years ago.
The day I left my grandmother's house…
and never came back."
He looked at her.
She did not look back.
In that moment, the silence between them wasn't emptiness—
it was an old road.
One they had both traveled before…
just never together.
❖ Approaching the City
The buildings began to rise before them, one after another—
tightly packed facades, balconies adorned with greenery, wide streets embraced by iron carriages that moved without horses, and people walking with a confidence untouched by fear.
This was not merely a place.
It was an entire world—one none of them had truly believed existed.
Armin's eyes widened until his heart seemed to show through them, his voice trembling with awe and disbelief all at once:
"This… this isn't just civilization.
This is a whole history we were never part of."
Sasha pressed her face to the window like a child seeing the sky for the first time:
"All these stalls… the bread… those smells!
I swear, if I died right now, I'd die happy!"
Connie laughed despite the tension:
"Sasha, we haven't even arrived yet.
Don't die before you taste everything!"
Mikasa remained silent, watching—
a blend of caution and shock in her features, her lips tightening slightly.
"They lived all this time…
while we were fighting just to survive one more day."
Eren showed no admiration.
Slowly, his hand clenched, his gaze cutting through the streets as though they were suffocating him—
as though every building stood as a silent accusation.
"They were living…
while we were being buried."
The words slipped between his teeth, bitter, echoing deep within his chest.
Fear. Confusion. Rage.
All of it flickered in his eyes.
Levi, meanwhile, stood still—as if the entire city had failed to stir him even for a moment.
But the truth inside him was savage.
This world… was Sarah's world.
And the one he came from—where walls crushed the soul—had been nothing but ash and blood.
He looked at her in long silence—
her dress, her hair moving with the wind, the way she stood among them in the city as though she had never left it.
He murmured, so softly the air barely caught it:
"Did you always belong here…
and was I the one who lived on the edge?"
She turned toward him at that exact moment—
a cruel coincidence.
Just a passing glance.
But it was enough to make him feel as though the distance between them had become a street without end.
❖ Reflections in the Mirror of the World
When they stepped out of the cars in one of Marley's refined districts, the city unfolded before them like a fractured mirror—reflecting a world they had long believed impossible.
Cobblestone streets laid with meticulous care, lampposts standing like sentinels from another era, the mingled scents of bread, coffee, and roasted meat drifting from restaurant windows, and crowds moving forward with purpose, burdened by nothing but the rhythm of their own lives.
Armin walked ahead thoughtfully, reading the signs, trying to connect language to system, system to history.
"This is the world we dreamed of understanding," he murmured.
"But it's far more complex than we imagined."
Sasha stopped in front of a shop window displaying golden roasted chicken, her entire universe shrinking into that single moment.
"I… I could live here," she declared solemnly.
"Right next to this place. That's my final decision."
Connie laughed, pulling her back by the shoulder.
"We're on a mission, genius—not a tasting tour."
Mikasa, meanwhile, watched Eren. He stood in silence, his eyes scanning the city—not searching for beauty, but for truth.
At that moment, Jean approached Layla, who moved through the alleys with an ease that felt almost unnatural. He asked with a half-smile,
"Do you know these streets by memory… or by heart?"
She answered calmly, without slowing her steps:
"Both. I never truly left this city—even when it was taken from me."
Jean paused, then said quietly,
"It's strange… to see someone carrying this much light in a city I was taught to fear."
Layla smiled faintly, not looking at him.
"Maybe it's time you learned the difference between walls that protect… and walls that suffocate."
Jean studied her for a long moment, then muttered as he followed,
"Or maybe… I'll start with you."
Behind them, Levi stood tense, his eyes constantly scanning corners and entrances as if expecting an ambush.
And Sarah walked ahead of them all—steady, composed.
With every step she took away from him, something inside Levi fractured further.
She wasn't merely part of this world…
She belonged to it.
He thought to himself, in a voice only his heart could hear:
"Maybe… it's not too late."
❖ The Encounter with Ramzi – Beneath the Shadows of a New World
The sun leaned toward dusk, casting a golden glow over shop windows and tin market roofs. Amid the calls of vendors and the scent of freshly baked bread, the Scouts stood for the first time inside a world unlike their island.
They were laughing now—tasting ice cream for the first time, startled by sweetness, trying—awkwardly—to blend into ordinary life.
Then—
"Hey! Stop, you thief!"
The shout tore through the moment.
Heads turned toward a small boy frozen in place, clutching Sasha's wallet—something she hadn't even noticed losing in her excitement.
In an instant, Levi appeared behind him. He grabbed the boy by the collar—firmly, but without cruelty. Just enough to stop him from running.
The child looked up, eyes wide with genuine terror.
This was Ramzi.
A crowd began to gather.
One man shouted,
"It's always these street rats—stealing and lying!"
Another sneered,
"They should've cut off his other hand too!"
A heavy silence fell.
Ramzi slowly raised his left arm.
It ended at the wrist.
He said nothing.
He just stood there, eyes fighting to stay whole.
Before the anger could explode—
Sarah stepped forward.
She looked at the men with a gaze so cold it stripped their masks away.
"Do you really think you're better than him," she said quietly,
"just because you were born here?"
Her voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"This child wasn't born a thief.
He was born in a place that never allowed him to be human."
Layla approached Ramzi and knelt in front of him, gently taking his uninjured hand.
"Come," she whispered.
"Let's leave this place."
Her voice was a breeze inside the storm.
Sasha, finally realizing what had happened, looked from Ramzi to Levi and said quickly,
"My wallet was empty anyway… give him something to eat."
Levi raised an eyebrow, then pulled some coins from his pocket and placed them into Ramzi's hand—without looking at him.
"Go," he said flatly, turning away.
"Before this city becomes another arena of humiliation."
They walked off together, leaving the stunned crowd behind.
And Ramzi walked between Sarah and Layla—his steps still unsteady, still afraid…
but for the first time,
someone was holding his hand instead of striking it.
❖ A Narrow Street… and a Vast Truth
Sarah, Layla, and Ramzi drifted away from the market, the rest of the Scouts following in silence. They moved through narrow alleys where the last rays of sunlight slipped between metal rooftops, and the deeper they went, the heavier the air became—thick with dampness, poverty, and forgotten lives.
At the end of one street, Khalil was waiting.
A boy Ramzi's age, with thick black hair and eyes shimmering with worry, sat quietly beside a cracked wall.
"Ramzi!" Khalil shouted, rushing forward and wrapping him in a tight embrace.
But Ramzi broke.
He collapsed into Khalil's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I'm sorry… I didn't want to steal, I swear. I just wanted us to eat today. I don't want to be a thief, Khalil… I don't want to become like them."
Silence fell.
Hange tilted her head, curiosity laced with unease.
"I don't understand… why are they called refugees? Where did they come from?"
Sarah answered calmly, her gaze fixed on the boys as if a memory had resurfaced.
"They're descendants of Turkish families. Forced to flee their homelands because of wars in the East. Their grandparents sought safety in Marley… but found only different walls—walls of racism, poverty, and neglect."
Layla tightened her grip on Ramzi's hand, her voice steady but soft.
"Marley exploits them, just as it exploited the people of the ghettos. Keeps them beneath the surface—without rights, without education, without chances. Then wonders why they steal."
Armin looked around at the decaying street, then at Ramzi and Khalil's faces.
"It's like staring into a mirror from the past… the other face of the world we wanted to discover."
Ramzi hesitated, then stepped toward Sarah.
"If you don't have somewhere to go… you can come with us. Our home is small… but it's warm."
Sarah smiled gently and glanced at Levi, silently asking for his answer.
He didn't speak.
He only nodded.
"Thank you, Ramzi," Sarah said, then turned to the others.
"Let's start here… with this small home."
❖ The Warmth of Family
At the heart of the camp—where tents stood on unstable, dusty ground—the Scouts stopped before a small, worn shelter, its edges fluttering in the evening breeze.
Ramzi lifted the frayed cloth shyly.
"This is our home… it's not much, but it's warm."
Sarah looked inside, then down at Khalil clutching her dress.
"Warmth isn't made by walls," she said softly. "It's made by hearts."
They all stepped inside, settling in a tight circle atop a patchwork blanket. The scent of simple soup filled the air—lentils, cooked with slightly stale bread toasted over a small flame.
Sasha cradled her bowl as if it were treasure.
"What is this? It's… amazing! I think I could live here!"
Layla laughed, wiping a bit of soup from Khalil's cheek.
"You're one of those who love the world, no matter how cruel it is."
They laughed together. Even Connie joked,
"If peace had a taste… it would be this."
Armin leaned toward the entrance, watching rows of tents and children playing with cloth balls.
"This is a corner of the world we never saw… not in books, not in Marley's reports. Just people trying to live."
In the corner, Levi sat without a word, holding a cup of tea. His hands were steady, as always—but his eyes lingered on Sarah, laughing as she stirred the soup, as if the weight of the world had slipped from her shoulders.
He murmured to himself,
"Even here… you find a way to bring light."
And in that moment—between Khalil's laughter, a piece of shared bread, and the trembling glow of an oil lamp—they felt something rare.
Something almost forgotten.
Something like family.
❖ On the Hill — A Confession Beneath the Sky
Night draped itself over the city, and the lights of the camp flickered like breaths of those who still refused to lose hope.
While laughter echoed inside the tent, Eren slipped away in silence and climbed the hill overlooking the refugee camp—the world, and everything he had failed to protect.
He sat there, eyes on the city, heart balanced on the edge of a decision.
Then… footsteps.
He turned.
Ramzi stood there, barefoot, holding a small blanket. Hunger still shadowed his eyes.
"Why are you crying?" the boy asked, his voice soft as a broken lullaby.
Eren didn't answer right away.
He looked at him—
as if staring at his own reflection as a child,
the boy who lost his mother and began walking toward a curse he could never escape.
Then he whispered, his voice shaking:
"Because I saw you die."
Ramzi trembled, not fully understanding. He sat beside him anyway, draping the blanket over Eren's legs.
Eren continued, the voice of a man afraid of himself:
"I'm the one who will crush this camp… this hill… this world."
Ramzi gasped—but stayed.
He had grown used to words adults didn't understand themselves.
"I thought I had no choice," Eren said.
"That the future I saw couldn't be changed…"
He paused. Silence pressed down hard.
"But tonight… after I looked into your eyes… heard your laughter… and saw Sarah…"
His voice broke.
"I want to believe—if only for one night—that she might be the key."
"That she can change the path… open a door I never saw in my visions."
"I want to believe this child… will survive."
Tears fell—silent, unclaimed.
No sobs. No cries. Just pain spilling freely.
Ramzi leaned closer and rested his head on Eren's shoulder.
No words.
A moment time itself could not swallow.
A child who didn't know his fate,
and a man who knew it far too well.
Above them,
the sky scattered its stars—
as if offering forgiveness.
Beneath the Stars — When One Word Changes the Fate of the World
Ramzi slipped away after saying goodbye,
leaving his small blanket draped over Eren's shoulders,
then running back toward the camp—
as if the final touch of forgiveness within him was too heavy for words.
Eren remained seated alone on the hill,
beneath a sky lit by the city's embers and the cold shimmer of stars.
Yet his eyes saw nothing
but the branching possibilities tearing his heart apart.
Soft footsteps approached—
familiar.
He didn't turn.
It was Mikasa.
She stood behind him in silence,
then whispered,
"Are you… alright?"
His reply was barely audible:
"Have I always… lived on the edge?"
The question surprised her.
She stepped closer until they faced one another,
just like in the image—
between the fire of the city and the night of fate.
Eren lifted his eyes to hers.
There was something broken in them,
something unseen before.
"Mikasa… what do I mean to you?"
A pause.
The same question—
but not the same answer.
She took a deep breath.
Looked at his face, longing to believe
there was an ending other than destruction.
"You were my family… that's what I always said."
"But I was running from the truth."
She stepped closer.
"The truth is… I loved you long ago,
and I didn't have the courage to say it."
"I love you, Eren. Not as a brother,
not as family—
but as the man my heart chose."
His eyes widened.
Shock rippled through him
like the beginning of an inner earthquake.
In that moment—
a white butterfly drifted between them.
Time itself slowed,
as if the Paths had sent a messenger to say:
"The ending has changed."
The butterfly circled them once,
then came to rest between their shoulders—
a silent vow,
a promise suspended in the night.
❖ Under the Stars — When a Single Word Alters the Fate of the World
Ramzi slipped away after bidding them farewell,
leaving his small blanket draped over Eren's shoulders before running back toward the camp—
as if that final touch of forgiveness was too heavy to be spoken aloud.
Eren remained seated alone on the hill,
beneath a sky lit by city flames and scattered stars.
Yet his eyes saw nothing but the possibilities tearing his heart apart.
Soft, familiar footsteps approached—
but he did not turn.
It was Mikasa.
She stood behind him in silence, then whispered,
"Are you… alright?"
His voice came out barely audible:
"Have I always been someone who lives on the edge?"
The question startled her.
She stepped closer until they stood face to face—
just like in the image—between the fire of the city and the night of destiny.
Eren lifted his eyes to her.
There was something broken in them,
something never seen before.
"Mikasa… what do I mean to you?"
A moment of silence.
The same question—yet never the same answer.
She took a deep breath, her gaze steady yet trembling.
"You were my family… that's what I always said.
But I was running from the truth."
She stepped closer.
"The truth is… I loved you for a long time.
And I never had the courage to say it.
I love you, Eren. Not as a brother. Not as family.
But as the man my heart chose."
His eyes widened.
Shock rippled through him like the first crack of an earthquake.
In that instant—
a white butterfly fluttered between them.
Time itself slowed,
as if the Paths had sent a messenger to whisper:
The ending has changed.
The butterfly circled them once, then hovered between their shoulders—
a ghostly vow suspended in the air.
Eren stepped closer, his voice trembling,
as if the words were rising from somewhere deeper than his throat:
"If I had heard this… at another time,
perhaps some destinies would have hesitated before falling."
Mikasa lifted her eyes to him, not fully understanding—
yet in his gaze
was something left unsaid.
He almost spoke again,
but swallowed a confession that felt like admitting to a massacre.
He only whispered:
"When love comes too late…
it becomes unbearably heavy for the one waiting to be saved."
Her tears cut into his words.
"But I'm saying it now," she said softly.
"Now is the only time I have the courage."
And for the first time—
he kissed her.
Not a kiss of desire.
Not of madness.
But of life.
A kiss that said:
I still want this world… as long as you are in it.
Above them,
the butterfly fluttered once more—
then vanished.
Yet its trace still shimmered
between their lips.
The streetlights of Marley glowed like sleepless eyes,
each light not merely illuminating, but exposing—
as though the city held up a mirror and said:
This is who you are… strangers searching for the meaning of life.
They walked on in silence, their steps lost between the noise of living and the caution of their mission.
Until Laila broke the quiet, her voice soft, as if cracking ice between past and present:
"There was a place here… we used to go during our school days.
A small club. Music from all over the world.
No one asked where you came from—
only whether you'd dance with them."
Jean wanted to laugh, but hesitated.
The tone wasn't playful.
"Do you want to go?" she continued quietly.
"Just to see… how people escape their pain."
Levi glanced at them coolly and said, without judgment:
"Dancing?"
Then fell silent.
Hange answered in his place, thoughtfully:
"Maybe we should feel their pain… not just study it."
Armin watched the lights, his eyes unraveling the melody drifting from a distant alley,
as if translating a new definition of survival.
Sarah's face paled slightly.
Memories long buried began to stir within her.
Laila noticed and said gently, almost reproachfully:
"It was the only place that made you laugh…
before you started trying to save the world."
Sarah didn't answer.
But she didn't refuse either.
In that moment, they all felt something unspoken:
this wasn't about dancing—
but about remembering what it means to be human
when you are not a weapon.
❖ "When the Stranger Wears the City's Mask"
Through Marley's crowded night, Laila led them into a narrow alley ending at a dimly lit glass front.
Above it, a small sign read:
"You Are What You Wear."
She pushed the door open, her voice serious:
"This club is for university students—artists, musicians, middle class.
No military uniforms. No dusty coats."
There was no humor in her tone—only awareness of how fragile safety could be.
Inside the shop, silence hung like a stage before the curtain rises.
Warm lights, many mirrors, and an elegant man in his fifties studying them carefully from behind thin spectacles.
Sasha eyed the hanging clothes cautiously:
"These look like costumes from an old play."
Laila moved lightly among the racks.
"They are.
A play that's been running for years.
Only those who know the script survive."
She selected pieces swiftly—striped shirts, fitted jackets, cocoa-colored trousers, light skirts in a 1950s style.
Jean studied himself in the mirror, wearing a dark green jacket.
"Not bad… I look like a caffeine-addicted student."
Armin chuckled softly while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
Mikasa chose a simple gray blouse and wide trousers—nothing that drew attention.
Laila stopped before Sarah and held up a black satin dress, mid-length, with sheer sleeves.
"This suits you perfectly.
Light, elegant, not flashy—
just enough to make them think you study literature or music."
Sarah stared at it silently, seeing in it the shadow of a life she no longer owned—
a distant melody, an old café, an evening reading with Laila.
She only said quietly:
"Fine… as long as it doesn't draw suspicion."
She took the dress without joy or regret.
She wore it to pass through—not to remember.
From behind them, Levi observed and said dryly:
"Looks like you're preparing for a stage performance."
Hange smiled.
"Isn't the whole world a stage?
And we're just characters in a script we don't know the ending to?"
No one answered.
Only the sound of fabric sliding from racks,
and the hush that comes before stepping into foreign ground.
The pavement glistened beneath the streetlights, reflections from glass storefronts rippling like a visual prelude to a night unlike any other.
Laila stopped before an old wooden door crowned by a dim sign.
Soft music spilled out—piano and jazz, seeping into the alley.
She turned to them, calm but alive with pulse:
"This place is safe.
No one asks for identities here—just music and movement.
Act like students. Be simple."
Jean stared at the interior, amazed:
"I can't believe this exists in Marley."
Sasha murmured, peering through the glass:
"Is there… food?"
Laila laughed softly.
"Always food with you. Yes, there's a small kitchen.
But tonight isn't just about eating—
it's about living one minute without names or ranks."
At the back, Levi studied the door in silence, hands in his pockets, memorizing exits before stepping in.
Sarah stood beside him without speaking.
A brief glance passed between them.
No words—
but unease drifted between them like a cool breeze
on an otherwise warm night.
❖ Crossing into Another World
The guard opened the door quietly.
There was no inspection, no questions.
He recognized Layla and merely gave a short nod.
"Welcome back," he said. "The stage has missed you."
Layla smiled politely and gestured for the others to enter.
Inside the club, the scene felt like a painting borrowed from another era.
Dark leather seats, velvet curtains, dim chandeliers glowing like restrained stars.
Men in white shirts beneath loose jackets, women in classic dresses and short-heeled shoes—
everyone moving as if time itself had agreed to slow down.
On stage, a small band played softly, weaving jazz breaths with violin strings.
Armin whispered, awe threading his voice:
"It's like we stepped through time itself."
❖ To the Rhythm of the Unfamiliar
They settled around a wooden table near the stage.
Layla observed the room with gentle caution, like a dancer who knows every shadow of the floor.
She turned to Jean with a smile.
"Would you like to dance?"
Jean hesitated, then joked:
"I'm better with blades than with feet."
Layla laughed and extended her hand.
"Come on. Let your body learn something new."
He hesitated—then took her hand.
As the music flowed, her steps were calm, precise.
She guided him gently from tension into rhythm.
"I didn't know you danced like this," Jean said, trying to keep up.
Layla's eyes gleamed.
"I needed a way to escape once.
No war on earth can chase a good rhythm."
❖ Watching from the Silence
In the corner, Sarah watched quietly.
Her face revealed nothing, but her gaze held something unnamed.
She lifted her eyes—and found Levi staring back from across the table.
They didn't speak.
Yet in that moment, a thousand questions passed between them without sound.
Levi sat in the far corner, back against the wooden wall, arms crossed.
Everything around him moved—
except his eyes.
He wasn't watching the dancers.
He was watching Sarah.
He noticed how she declined politely, how she hid behind a glass she never drank from,
how she folded herself into silence amid the noise.
Others didn't notice that silence.
But he did.
He saw how eyes in the room drifted toward her without intention—
that kind of presence that cannot be learned or bought.
It is either born within someone… or it never exists at all.
Something inside him tightened.
He didn't know its name.
❖ "Your Turn."
After a long dance, Layla returned to the table, her face glowing.
She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder, smiling with a hint of challenge.
"Come on. This hall doesn't know you yet—and that's an injustice to good taste."
Sarah lifted her head slowly, hesitation flickering in her eyes.
She wanted to refuse.
To laugh it off. To retreat.
But something in Levi's gaze—
that steady, sharp, unreadable look—made her pause.
It wasn't admiration.
It was as if he were testing her.
Waiting for her to step back—
to confirm she was only a shadow inside a woman's body.
She stood.
"If you regret asking me," she said calmly,
"that's your problem."
Layla smiled and took her hand.
They walked together toward the center of the room as the music softened,
as if the melody itself stepped aside to let them pass.
❖ The Quiet Fall of Many Masks
The music shifted.
Slow. Elegant.
As though lifted from an old spinning record.
These weren't dance beats—
they were memory steps.
Sarah closed her eyes for a brief moment…
then began to move.
She wasn't performing movements.
She was retrieving something—
something buried in the years before war claimed her life.
Each step was deliberate, yet unforced.
Every turn of the wrist, every curve of her body, spoke.
This wasn't a dance.
It was a confession without words.
Laughter in the room faded.
Connie stopped talking.
Jean stopped smiling.
Even Armin, rarely shaken, looked as though he were witnessing a play he didn't yet understand.
Hange leaned forward and whispered:
"These aren't just steps…
She's speaking another language."
Levi did not move.
His eyes never blinked—
but his chest tightened.
In that moment, he wasn't watching a body in motion.
He was watching a past rise—
one that no longer belonged to anyone's control.
✦ The Return of Silence
The dance ended without applause.
Sarah returned to the table.
She didn't smile.
She didn't boast.
She sat down as if nothing had happened.
Jean, who had almost spoken, lowered his gaze to the table instead.
Even Layla didn't comment—only a slight nod passed between them.
In that quiet corner of the hall, they all gathered around something invisible:
a moment that brought them closer to Sarah than months of fighting ever had,
and opened inside Levi a question he didn't know how to ask.
When Eyes Refuse to Sleep
Laughter still echoed like remnants from another world,
and the lamps swayed gently with the breeze, as if reluctantly bidding them farewell.
Behind them, the music faded slowly—
like a candle extinguishing itself before witnessing what comes next.
Sarah took a few steps… then stopped.
She looked back at the club.
She didn't know why, but something in her chest trembled.
As if memory—or suspicion—had brushed past her shoulder.
Layla spun lightly in the street, excitement in her voice:
"Believe me, this is only the beginning. You haven't seen Marley yet…"
Jean laughed, and the group drifted back into scattered conversation.
But Levi didn't move.
He stood behind them, his eyes not following the group—
but fixed on something hidden in the darkness.
Something he couldn't clearly see… yet felt.
Not a sound.
Not a shadow.
But the kind of danger soldiers are trained to sense before it's born.
He stepped closer to Sarah, his voice low, eyes scanning the street:
"Something's wrong."
He paused, then added—his tone sharp with warning:
"We're strangers here. And strangers… don't mistake danger when they feel it."
Sarah turned toward him, her eyes mirroring the question in his voice.
But he didn't elaborate.
He lifted his gaze toward the buildings—toward corners untouched by the streetlights.
Then he said quietly, decisively:
"We're leaving."
❖ Parallel Scene: Beneath the Grey Hat
Across the street, where shadows blended with Marley's carriage smoke,
a man stood—too still.
A long grey coat.
An old hat hiding most of his features.
A cigarette burned between his fingers—
but he wasn't really smoking.
He was watching.
His eyes didn't blink.
They didn't follow random movement—
they focused on one thing only:
Sarah.
He saw her step outside.
Walk.
Laugh—just a little.
Beside her stood a short man with sharp features, unfamiliar to him.
He murmured, as if summoning ghosts:
"Sarah… is it possible?
Didn't you say you'd never come back?"
From his pocket, he drew a small camera—light, precise.
Not a tourist's camera.
One that sends images to a department no one knows exists.
He raised it.
A photo of Sarah alone.
Then one with the strange man beside her.
Then the entire group.
But his gaze returned to Sarah alone.
She was speaking to the short man,
laughing—despite something in her face that wasn't laughing at all.
He whispered again, this time with a dangerous edge:
"If what I think is true…
the entire world is about to change."
He crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe, slid the camera back into his pocket—
—and vanished into the crowd.
Flashback — "Words Across Time"
Marley night. After the gathering.
The palace slept under a heavy silence,
like a shell trying to contain the echo of what had occurred.
Everyone slept from exhaustion—
except one person.
Eren.
He slipped quietly into the back garden,
where trees whispered in the dark
and the night breeze carried something of longing… and something of madness.
He stood by a small pond reflecting the moonlight.
Bent down, picked up a stone, tossed it gently into the water, and murmured:
"She told me… told me I wasn't alone.
But I saw the future—
and Mikasa wasn't there.
Not even Sarah."
His voice was fragile, disoriented—
as if speaking to another time, not a living soul.
Behind him, Armin appeared softly, pulling his coat tighter around his thin frame.
"Eren? Couldn't sleep either?"
Eren didn't answer.
He kept staring at the water's surface.
"I move between images… faces… voices that won't die.
Mikasa said one thing—one word—that changed everything.
But in the future… her eyes were empty.
And Sarah?
She wasn't there.
Not at all."
Armin stared at him, stunned.
"Eren… what are you saying?
Are you having visions?
Have you become some kind of oracle of the future?"
Eren let out a bitter laugh, kicking a small stone away.
"No.
I'm its slave.
Every time I try to escape it, it drags me deeper.
I know the endings.
I see them written before me—
like a mute fate."
Armin stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Eren… even if you see a thousand endings,
there's one thing that never changes.
Mikasa.
In every timeline, every world—
she loves you.
You just forgot how to look at her."
They fell silent for a moment.
Then Armin added, with a faint, crooked smile:
"Honestly… I don't understand half of what you're saying.
But I know you.
You're not crazy.
You're just trying to fight what can't be changed."
Eren whispered, his voice fading:
"And if not me… then who?"
Armin answered quietly:
"Who said you're alone?"
Silence fell again—
a silence like an unfinished prophecy,
its echo still breathing through the night.
👉 If one honest confession can change the future… was the destruction ever inevitable?
Poll:
🔥 Yes — Fate cannot be escaped
🦋 No — One choice is enough to change everything
⚔️ I'm afraid to know the answer