❖ In the Halls of Gold and Fire
In a hall overflowing with opulence and golden light, Willy Tybur sat behind his massive desk, flipping through documents that claimed to shape the fate of nations.
But his eyes were not reading.
The silence shattered as hurried footsteps echoed across the marble floor. His personal aide entered, bowing deeply.
Aide:
"Sir… an urgent report. You may find it… relevant."
Willy raised his gaze without haste. The aide placed a dark envelope on the desk. Willy opened it slowly.
And then—
his expression froze.
The first photograph: Sarah, standing among strangers.
The second: Sarah smiling—and beside her, a man. Short. Sharp-featured. Unknown.
Time paused.
Willy (so softly the air barely carried it):
"You're here…? You were supposed to be on the island."
He turned toward the fireplace, flames reflecting in his eyes like mirrors of buried years.
He lifted the photograph again and whispered, as if summoning an old sin:
"You were meant to stay there."
The aide hesitated, then spoke again, carefully:
Aide:
"Sir… there is something else."
Willy (without turning):
"Yes?"
Aide:
"The man with her… we took several photos. But while observing him, he suddenly looked up—directly at my position."
"He didn't speak. Didn't move."
"Just… looked."
"And that look—only someone who has survived death more than once can possess it."
The aide swallowed.
"For the first time… I felt exposed. Like prey. I've never felt that before—not even under the gaze of generals."
A pause.
Willy (calm—fatally so):
"If one of our veterans felt hunted… then he is not merely a soldier."
Aide:
"Yes, sir. He is… something else."
Willy (almost to himself):
"Something Sarah brought with her."
His eyes returned to the photos.
His smile appeared—but it was hollow, the kind carved into ancient statues that have long lost faith.
"Find everything about him.
His past. His voice. His weaknesses.
Who knows him. Who loves him. Who fears him."
He set the photographs aside and stood before the fire, as if witnessing a moment he was never prepared to face.
Then, quietly—his pride cracking beneath restraint:
"I married. I had children. I became a man whose decisions are unbreakable…"
A pause.
"But you…
you were the only decision that broke me."
He did not turn.
Willy:
"Watch them closely."
Aide (bowing):
"Yes, sir."
Willy:
"And do not interfere.
Only report.
I want to know who walks beside her—
whether he is a passing shadow…
or something far more dangerous."
He turned back to his desk, pulled a pristine official document toward him, and began to write—
then stopped.
Something tightened in his chest.
"You think you can return…
with a calm face and a heart emptied of memory…"
He whispered, as though speaking to a ghost that never truly left:
"Do you remember Mathis?"
His gaze fixed on Sarah's image.
"You are not the only one who buried the past.
But I am the one who dug the grave."
He set the pen down.
Willy:
"Prepare the invitation.
Make it official enough that she cannot refuse—
and personal enough that she cannot ignore."
Aide:
"A diplomatic invitation, sir?"
Willy (coldly):
"A personal one… disguised as diplomacy."
He stared into the flames once more.
"I want her here.
Between these walls.
Just as she was… before she ran."
The aide bowed deeply.
Aide:
"As you command, sir."
If you want, I can also:
sharpen the psychological tension even more
make Willy colder or more obsessive
or align this scene tightly with your alternate-fate Mikasa/Eren divergence
Just tell me.
Whispers Between Sisters
In one of the palace rooms, far from the noise of the world, Sarah finally slipped off her shoes and sank into the sofa.
Beside her, Layla stretched out lazily, her head resting on a cushion, her hair still disheveled from dancing and laughter.
Layla (sleepily, her eyes half-closed):
"I know that face… I've always been able to read you, even when you say nothing at all."
Sarah (smiling faintly, looking away):
"Which face are you talking about?"
Layla (closing her eyes, whispering as if recalling a childhood memory):
"The one you wore when you were seven… when you were hiding something from me and thought I wouldn't notice."
Sarah (warm, cautious):
"Some things aren't meant to be said… at least, not yet."
Layla (opening one eye, smiling softly):
"I'm not asking for a confession.
I just noticed the way you looked at him… and the way you didn't try to push him away."
Sarah (in a whisper that almost became an admission):
"Some things happen without planning.
They just… happen."
Layla (closing her eyes again, reassured):
"As long as you're not alone in them."
Silence settled between them—
not heavy, not suffocating, but soft, like a thin blanket of nostalgia.
Layla reached out lazily and brushed her sister's fingers.
Layla (half-asleep):
"I'm here… just remember that."
Silence in the Other Wing
In another part of the palace, Levi sat alone in the narrow room he had chosen himself—as always.
He hadn't changed his clothes.
He hadn't turned off the light.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back against the wall, staring into nothing, as if the entire world had narrowed down to that night.
He didn't speak.
He rarely did.
But something inside him felt… misaligned.
The moment Sarah stepped onto the dance floor hadn't been ordinary.
It wasn't a battlefield.
It wasn't war.
And yet—it had shaken him more deeply than either.
He looked at his hands.
No weapon.
Then at the door.
No threat.
And still, something had slipped from his grasp.
He stood slowly, crossed the room, and opened the window.
Night air crept inside, carrying the distant sound of a passing carriage, a woman's laughter fading into the dark.
He whispered—without truly making a sound:
"I'm not safe here.
Not because of this place…
but because of what's happening inside me."
He turned away from the city.
Closed the window.
Sat down again.
A soft knock echoed at the door.
Levi (without moving):
"It's open."
Hange slipped inside lightly, holding a cup of tea, smiling as always—eyes observing far more than they laughed.
Hange:
"I thought I'd find you awake.
I brought this… I know you wouldn't ask for it."
(She sets the cup down.)
"And strangely enough, you didn't yell at me to get out."
Levi (dryly):
"Still plenty of time to do that."
Hange (laughs, then studies his face):
"You're not okay."
(Her voice lowers.)
"Something wrong?"
Levi pauses. Then looks down.
Levi:
"At the club… I saw something."
Hange (raising an eyebrow):
"Oh? And here I thought it was Sarah's impressive dance. I was one step away from applauding and declaring her the uncrowned queen of Marley."
Levi (cutting through the humor):
"Someone was watching us."
Hange stops smiling. Straightens.
Hange:
"Did you see him?"
Levi:
"Not clearly. But I felt him.
The moment Sarah stepped onto the floor, I lifted my head and stared into the shadows.
Someone was trying very hard not to be seen."
(His gaze fixes on the wall, replaying the memory.)
"He wasn't an amateur.
He was skilled enough to fool everyone… except me."
Hange (murmurs):
"And probably fooled Sarah too. Her eyes were on something else."
Levi (sharp):
"Focus."
Hange (smiles):
"I am focused, Levi. I just happen to multitask—focus and humor."
(She sits on the table's edge.)
"Do you think they've identified us?"
Levi (low voice):
"Not yet. But we're walking a very thin line.
This place is bright… and darkness always watches brightest light."
Hange (nods, more serious now):
"Alright. We'll tighten security.
I'll have Armin review the routes and backup plans.
And I'll pretend I know nothing."
(Then, lighter)
"But between us… I think Sarah might be the greatest vulnerability here.
Or rather… the heart of this operation."
Levi (barely audible):
"Vulnerability?"
Hange (catching his tone, half-smiling):
"Oh, don't worry. I mean that tactically, of course."
(She stands, heading for the door.)
"Try to sleep. Tomorrow starts a new phase."
She pauses at the threshold, her voice unexpectedly gentle.
Hange:
"I've known you a long time.
This is the first time I've seen you sense danger…
not from an enemy—
but from something inside yourself."
She winks—and leaves before he can respond.
Flashback – "The First Look… Was One-Sided"
Marley – Tybur Estate, 12 Years Ago
The banquet was lavish in every expected way—crystal gleaming in every corner, classical melodies floating through whispered politics and rehearsed laughter. The air was thick with performance. Eyes watched more than they truly saw.
Then Sarah entered.
She was eighteen.
Wearing a simple beige dress—unadorned, save for a delicate necklace resting at her throat like a quiet secret. She stood at the entrance beside her sister Layla, fingers lightly entwined with hers. She wasn't shy… but she wasn't comfortable either.
Yes, she belonged to a noble family—
but not to crowds.
Her gaze was sharp, observant, unreadable. She stood with a stillness that seemed to say:
I am here—but do not expect me to belong.
And from across the hall…
Willy Tybur saw her.
He stood beside the Minister of Defense, nodding to words that meant nothing—until her presence cut through his attention like a sudden fracture in glass.
"Who is that girl?" he asked quietly.
After a pause, his aide replied:
"That is Sarah. Granddaughter of Lord Friedman. She recently returned to Marley from an Eastern academy."
Willy moved toward her without thinking, stopping before her with polished courtesy.
"Good evening, miss… may I know your name?"
She studied him briefly.
Her gray eyes held no awe, no curiosity—only guarded awareness.
"Sarah," she said simply.
"Only Sarah?"
"If you intend to remember it," she replied, then turned back to Layla as though he no longer existed.
Something struck him—harder than rejection.
She hadn't smiled.
Hadn't softened.
Hadn't cared.
Instead… she made him feel unseen.
He lingered for a moment, then smiled faintly—
the kind of smile no one ever notices.
"Since when do I fall for women who don't care whether I exist?"
he murmured to himself.
From that night on…
he never forgot her name.
She, however, remembered him only as one face among dozens—
a blur from a night she never liked recalling.
And from that night onward, he never truly saw another woman—
only versions of her.
That evening, alone in his room, he wrote in a journal no one was meant to read:
"Sarah… a flower unaware it blooms in a battlefield."
Flashback – The Second Meeting: "A Key That Does Not Fit"
Marley – Friedman Estate, Weeks Later
A cold-tinged morning.
Sarah sat atop the garden wall, sketchbook resting in her lap. Cherry trees stood bare before her, their branches stripped of bloom. Her hair was tied back neatly, her expression calm—yet her mind roared with unspoken things.
Measured footsteps broke the silence.
She turned to see her grandfather, Lord Friedman, standing with his usual gravity.
"Sarah."
"Yes, Grandfather?"
He faced the garden as though it were a chessboard without end.
"Willy Tybur will visit this evening."
She raised an eyebrow—but said nothing.
"He is a rising figure. Trusted by the War Council. His presence in your life would be… a strategic turning point. Discussion of an engagement is not merely hypothetical."
Only then did Sarah close her notebook.
"Did you decide my future for me," she asked coolly,
"or is it being auctioned among noble houses?"
He neither smiled nor scolded.
"You are a Friedman. Your choices must weigh blood and paper—not the heart."
She hesitated, then whispered, testing the pain:
"And what of Mattis?"
Time stalled.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"Mattis is kind… but he holds no political horizon. No backing. No weight. He dreams beyond his reach. And you—
you are not meant to dream, Sarah.
You are meant to influence."
He turned to leave, then added without looking back:
"Conduct yourself with grace tonight. The Tyburs do not visit without reason."
Later That Evening – The Library
Golden light spilled softly across the vast library. Sarah sat alone, book open in her lap—borrowed from the Eastern Academy. The scent of aged paper and polished wood lingered, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Willy entered quietly. No servant announced him.
"Books?" he said lightly.
"I didn't expect to find you somewhere without spectacle."
She lifted her gaze slowly—calm, direct, precise.
"And I didn't expect to find you in my grandfather's home, Mr. Tybur."
He smiled—though his eyes remained distant.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the chair.
"The chair isn't mine," she replied,
"but my time is. Don't waste it."
He sat.
"I wished to apologize for my arrogance at the banquet. I came across as a man accustomed to enchanting women… perhaps because I am."
She closed the book gently.
"No apology required. I didn't consider you important enough to be offended."
He laughed—genuinely this time.
"And that," he said,
"is precisely why I couldn't forget you."
She met his eyes.
"If you are here to court me, you are mistaken. My grandfather may see a potential husband…
I see a stranger."
"Perhaps," Willy said,
"but strangers sometimes open doors even the closest fear to touch."
She stood.
"I believe in keys," she said coolly.
"But I am the key that does not fit your lock."
He stepped closer—but did not touch her.
"Every lock changes," he said softly,
"when it learns to wait."
She left the room.
Leaving him alone—
standing before a book opened to page 117.
In the margin, her handwriting read:
"I am not searching for a hero—
only for peace."
He whispered to the empty room:
"The strongest women…
are those who wait for no one."
Do you think Tybur lost Sarah the moment he tried to own her future… instead of understanding her heart?