❖ At the Dinner Table… When Levi Spoke the Truth and Fear Woke Up
The dinner table in Grandmother's palace felt like a sealed box filled with tension.
The dishes were arranged with care, the candles casting dancing shadows on the walls…
yet the air itself felt strangely suffocated.
Sarah, Mikasa, Eren, and Laila sat unnaturally quiet, exchanging brief glances with Levi.
The secret of the car still weighed heavily in their chests.
The others, however, knew nothing.
Jean was chatting about the food.
Connie laughed at a weak joke.
Sasha held her fork as if she were in combat with her plate.
Armin was mentally taking notes, as always.
Hange blinked with scientific curiosity.
Then—
Levi set down his fork.
With lethal calm, as if he had decided to sever the final artery of silence, he lifted his head and spoke in a steady, sharp voice:
"Before you eat… there's something you need to know."
Everyone froze.
Jean stopped chewing as if he had swallowed air.
Sasha slowly lowered her bread.
Hange's eyes widened like a child who had just found a new puzzle.
Levi continued, without sparing a glance at the stunned faces:
"We're being watched."
Silence crashed onto the table, as if the palace ceiling had collapsed.
Luca was the first to speak, his voice raw with shock:
"What… what do you mean? Watched? By whom?"
Levi answered without a flicker of emotion:
"Someone experienced. A professional. He didn't get close… but he wanted us to know he was there."
Armin, who hadn't blinked for two full seconds, said carefully:
"Are you sure? It could be one of the guards—"
Levi cut him off, his voice sharp as a blade:
"A guard?"
He gestured calmly.
"This person vanished in front of me—without a sound.
Even his shadow couldn't catch the light."
Sasha gasped softly.
"A… a ghost?"
Jean slammed the table, half joking, half afraid:
"What are you talking about?! We were at a party last night! Since when have we been watched?!"
Laila turned to Jean, her voice low, edged with caution:
"Since we left the party yesterday… Levi noticed something off."
Jean stared at them, disbelief draining his voice:
"What? Since yesterday?! Then why didn't you say anything?!"
Eren answered, his tone more serious than usual:
"Because he wasn't completely sure… until today."
Mikasa, her gaze fixed steadily on the table, added:
"Today. At the hospital. He confirmed it."
A suffocating silence fell over them, like a wall of ice sweeping across the table.
Connie stared at Levi, his voice tight:
"So… we've been under surveillance this whole time?! By who? And why?"
Levi slowly raised his eyes, meeting each face in turn, then said coldly:
"I don't know who he is. But his movements aren't random.
These are trained eyes… tracking us."
Luca frowned deeply.
"Are you talking about Marley's eyes? Or someone else?"
Levi shook his head slightly.
"Nothing's certain. But anyone who follows footsteps this quietly… doesn't work alone. He's not an amateur."
Hange muttered, biting her lip:
"It feels like we're back in the shadow game… one Levi knows very well."
Levi glanced at her, then said sharply:
"And I don't like it… when someone moves in the dark and we don't know who they are."
Sasha whispered, fear creeping into her voice:
"Are we in danger?"
Levi didn't blink.
"Maybe not yet. But no one watches for fun.
If we're pieces on a chessboard… someone has started moving us."
He lifted his gaze to Luca specifically, his words carrying political weight:
"Whoever's watching us isn't an ordinary Marley officer.
His steps. His stance. The way he withdraws…"
He inhaled slowly, then said:
"That's the signature of someone… top-tier."
Hange, more serious than anyone had ever seen her, said quietly:
"You're talking about someone… on your level."
Levi turned to her slowly, his voice cold:
"If he were like me… we'd be dead.
This person only wants us to know he exists."
Luca's grip tightened around his cup until his hand trembled.
"Could it be… a powerful family? A political force?"
For the first time, Levi looked at Sarah.
It was a brief glance—but it said everything.
Sarah met his eyes.
Only the two of them understood the meaning.
Then Levi spoke slowly:
"I don't know his name…
but I know one thing."
He looked at them all, one by one.
"He's not here by coincidence.
And he knows Sarah."
The words hit the table like gunfire.
As terrified glances passed between them, Sarah lifted her teacup with a steady hand—
even as her heart pounded harder than it had in years.
The shadows had revealed themselves.
And the game… had truly begun.
A Silence Heavy Enough to Break
A heavy silence settled over the room.
The curtains did not move.
The moon offered no light.
Only a frozen stillness lingered—suspended between caution and possibility.
Then, without a word, Sarah slowly extended her hand
and gently pressed it over Levi's resting on the table.
His hand did not move.
But it did not pull away either.
She spoke in a steady voice, infused with raw humanity:
"I know he caused you more pain than words can carry.
I'm not defending him, and I don't know him the way you do…
but I know the ache of losing something that can never be replaced."
Her eyes lowered for a moment, then lifted again—warmer now:
"Tonight, you are not alone, Levi.
Whether Zeke comes to deceive, to bargain, or even to confess…
I'm standing beside you."
He turned his face slightly toward her.
His expression remained unchanged, yet the shadow in his eyes softened.
He replied quietly—almost as if allowing his voice to step away from war for the first time:
"No one has ever said that to me…
without asking for something in return."
She smiled faintly, still holding his hand.
"Maybe because I'm not asking for anything—
except that you stay alive."
Zeke's Arrival – A Clash of Ideas and Fate
The hall was dim, oil lamps casting trembling shadows against the walls, as if bearing witness to something far greater than a meeting.
They sat in loose circles, faces half-lit, half-drowned in unspoken questions.
Then—the iron bolt shifted.
The door opened slowly.
Zeke stepped inside.
He came alone.
No escort.
No announcement.
His footsteps were measured—those of a man who knew exactly which hell he was walking into… and chose not to turn back.
He carried a pair of folded leather gloves, placing them on the table as though they carried meaning he refused to explain. His gaze swept over the familiar faces—painfully familiar.
When his eyes reached Levi, they stopped.
Levi spoke first, his voice low, stripped of welcome or hostility:
"Zeke."
Zeke replied calmly, falsely so:
"Captain Ackerman."
It wasn't a greeting—it was the echo of years filled with blood, betrayal, and explosions no one forgot.
Levi's stare was steady. Zeke didn't look away. Instead, he took another step forward and sat.
"I appreciate whoever decided not to shoot before I spoke,"
Zeke said.
"It seems hearts haven't reconciled yet… which is only natural."
When his gaze reached Eren, he paused.
No handshake.
No expression.
Just a brief, unreadable look—then he turned away.
Connie whispered under his breath:
"Did he just… ignore him?"
Sasha frowned:
"That's his brother, isn't it? That's unsettling."
Jean clenched his jaw:
"It's Zeke. Nothing he does is without intent."
Eren said nothing.
But his eyes burned silently.
Zeke finally faced Levi again. His head dipped slightly—not quite respect, not quite apology.
Then his attention shifted to Sarah.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Only watched—tracking every shift in his tone, every calculation behind his steps.
Zeke spoke first:
"I didn't expect to be welcomed by these faces.
Some of them were the last thing I saw before losing consciousness.
Others I've never met—yet they carry the same knives in their eyes."
Armin replied evenly:
"We're here for the truth. Not to draw blades.
If what you carry is worth knowing."
Zeke offered a faint half-smile:
"Good. Nothing is more dangerous than people who change suddenly."
A pause.
Zeke stood. He didn't sit again. His eyes swept the room.
Eren spoke from his seat, voice heavy:
"Are you afraid to get closer?
Or is it my hands you're avoiding?"
Zeke didn't answer.
He looked down briefly, then lifted his head:
"Fear has nothing to do with it.
Some things… are not meant to be touched."
The words lingered, refusing to fade.
Then Sarah moved.
Slowly. Calmly.
She stood as if lifting her shadow from beneath the table. Her steps were measured, her face free of provocation.
She looked at him steadily.
"Zeke… I won't argue about a past I never lived.
But what I see now is a man hiding a delayed explosion behind intellect."
Zeke studied her with genuine interest.
"And who says I'm hiding it?
Perhaps I simply lack the courage to detonate it myself."
She stepped closer—careful, controlled.
"You said you came to give us a choice.
Then begin by choosing—
shake your brother's hand."
Zeke looked at Eren.
Then at his own hand.
He didn't move.
"Hands are excuses," he said.
"Sometimes touching them ignites what we're trying to prevent.
And you, scientist of Marley… understand that better than anyone."
Eren's voice cut in:
"Or maybe you're afraid to realize you don't belong to any family anymore."
Zeke turned to respond—
But Sarah interrupted, sharper now:
"We don't want a family of blood.
We want a family of action.
And if you didn't come to act, your words mean nothing."
She stepped back, returning to her place—
but before she did, she looked at Levi.
Then she reached out again and gently pressed her hand into his.
Softly—only for him:
"I don't know him the way you do.
But I know what it means to hold your hand tense with no one to grasp it.
I'm here, Levi.
Not for Zeke… for you."
Levi didn't respond.
Didn't move.
But for the first time—
his eyes were not empty.
Zeke stood abruptly, as if the conversation had ended.
But then Levi spoke—the first words he'd offered since Zeke entered:
"If you're telling the truth, answer this.
What do you really want?
Why did you bring us to Marley?"
Zeke turned slowly, studying Levi as though deciding whether he deserved the answer.
Then he spoke, low and clear:
"So you can see the real world.
To understand that your island—no matter how strong its weapons—
is surrounded by a time that has already moved on without you."
He paused.
"Marley is in crisis. Yes.
But it is not alone.
The world has changed…
and you are dangerously late."
A Heavy Silence
A dense silence settled over the room.
Not even the curtains stirred. The moon offered no light.
Only a stillness suspended between caution and possibility.
Then Luca intervened, his calm voice cutting through the tension like reason itself.
Luca:
"Zeke… let's be clear. Are we being watched here? Does anyone in the Marleyan government know we're hosting the ghosts of the island?"
Zeke (without hesitation):
"No. Your presence in this estate isn't known—even to the highest levels of the government.
As long as you keep quiet, no one will find out."
Luca (with a faint, clever smile):
"So you're an unofficial guest, then?"
Zeke (dryly):
"I've always been a guest in this world, Luca."
He continued, his hands clasped behind his back, voice analytical:
"Marley isn't what it used to be. Some nations are reconsidering their loyalties.
Others see an alliance with the island as… profitable.
Especially in exchange for what you possess—gas, energy… and perhaps more."
Hange stepped forward, sharp intelligence in her eyes.
Hange:
"So you're planning to play the alliance card? Gas in exchange for silence?"
Zeke (meeting her gaze):
"I'm thinking about survival—whatever form it takes."
Hange (cautiously):
"Then this might interest you.
A serum has already succeeded in restoring a Titan to human form."
Zeke didn't look surprised. He simply raised one eyebrow.
Zeke:
"Kasper… I've heard. An old friend of my father's.
And of Sarah's father as well, wasn't he?"
Sarah (cutting in, focused):
"The serum is real, Zeke. It works.
If you truly want a future without Titans—this is the path. Not sterilization."
Zeke (quietly):
"The serum doesn't end fear.
It doesn't erase hatred.
But… maybe it helps."
Hange (quickly):
"And it's enough to open negotiations.
If the Titan threat disappears, the justification for war disappears with it."
Zeke looked at them as if testing something unseen.
Zeke:
"And will it disappear?
Or will one of you unleash it again… in a moment of rage?"
Then, for the first time in several minutes, Eren spoke.
His voice was low—but every word struck like a bullet.
Eren:
"And the curse?
Who ends Ymir's curse?
Even the serum doesn't erase that."
The air itself seemed to tremble.
No one answered.
Not even Zeke.
Then Lily spoke—calm, steady, deep.
Lily:
"That's a question we must face.
But it cannot be an excuse for surrender.
If we want peace, we must draw its map.
A plan. A treaty. A future.
Injections and speeches aren't enough—only genuine intent that surpasses hatred."
Luca nodded slowly, recognizing political maturity.
Zeke stared at the floor.
Zeke (slowly):
"If you're right… and truly prepared—
then perhaps it's time for the final test.
Are you ready to build tomorrow…
or merely survive until the end of today?"
Before He Left — The Words That Halted History
Zeke turned to leave.
His first step was calm.
The second deliberate.
The third was stopped by Sarah's voice—not loud, but piercing.
Sarah:
"Zeke… wait."
He froze without turning around.
The room held its breath.
Sarah stepped forward, her eyes unwavering.
Sarah:
"I lived on the island.
I saw its people—how they fight just to remain human,
trapped by walls, monsters, and endless war.
They deserve to live, Zeke."
Every head lifted.
Even Levi stopped leaning against the wall.
Her voice grew stronger—still controlled, still precise.
Sarah:
"We now have a serum that restores Titans to their humanity.
This is an opportunity humanity hasn't seen since Ymir fell.
The world is exhausted by war.
Marley's allies are retreating.
The island is now a position of power—because of gas.
This is not an era of annihilation.
It's an era of negotiation."
Zeke stopped—but his back was still to them.
Sarah (deliberately):
"There may not be trust between us.
But you are the only one who can help open the world's door.
Whether you want to or not."
Then he turned slightly—one eye visible, dark and uncertain.
Sarah:
"And even if you refuse…
there is a bond between us that existed before we ever met.
Its name is Kasper.
The man who was a friend to my parents… and to your father as well."
Zeke's eyes narrowed.
The information struck deeper than expected.
Then came the sentence that shattered the silence.
Sarah (quiet—but cutting):
"Tell me…
wouldn't you have wanted this serum to exist
when your mother was a Titan?
Wouldn't you have wanted an escape—
something other than betrayal?"
A soft gasp escaped Sasha.
Mikasa tightened her grip on the chair.
Armin raised his hand to his mouth.
But the final blow followed.
Sarah:
"You turned Connie's village into Titans.
And today—because of this serum—
his mother is human again."
Connie froze.
His eyes filled with tears he refused to shed.
Sarah:
"This serum…
is the only chance you have
to atone for even a fraction of what you've done.
So think carefully, Zeke.
Don't rush toward an ending
when a new beginning stands before you."
Zeke stopped.
Not his body—
but the man himself.
He turned slowly.
Not angry.
For the first time in years—shaken.
Zeke (his voice breaking):
"This…
is the first time anyone has cornered me like this."
He stepped closer, struggling to maintain control.
Zeke:
"Your words…
touched something I never allowed anyone near."
The room breathed as one.
Zeke (with a fractured smile):
"Especially coming from…
a scientist like you.
From Marley."
He lifted his head and addressed them all.
Zeke:
"We will speak again.
I will think about every word you said.
And perhaps…
peace is more beautiful than war."
He left.
The room remained behind—stunned, shaken.
Even Levi muttered under his breath:
Levi:
"…damn it."
They say upon this earth lived a free, wandering soul,
He carried a dream upon burning shoulders.
He saw Ymir weeping in chains,
_So he broke them—
and died at dusk.
Flashback – "A Man of Sand, and Blood That Was Never Understood"
It was a cold autumn night.
The wind howled like a wolf that had run out of patience.
In a narrow back alley of Liberio, a small tavern hid itself from the world—
a place only dreamers… or the broken, ever entered.
Jalal, dark-skinned with sharp black eyes, sat at a worn wooden table.
A cup of black tea steamed before him.
His curly black hair looked wilder than usual, as if his thoughts had escaped and tangled themselves into strands.
The door creaked open.
Grisha entered with hurried steps and a face carved from exhaustion.
He dropped into the chair across from his friend as though the weight of the world had finally crushed his legs.
Jalal (with a dry smile):
"I swear, that face of yours could start a revolution before it's ready.
Sit down… drink something that might soften that knot in your brow."
Grisha:
"You say that as if tomorrow is guaranteed."
(He glances around.)
"You know… this tavern reminds me of Marley.
Dark. Narrow.
Pretending to be warm."
Jalal (sipping his tea):
"At least this place doesn't send our children to die."
The words froze the air.
Time seemed to pause—just for a heartbeat.
Grisha (lowering his voice):
"Zeke is changing.
He's started asking questions… about freedom. About Ymir.
He writes things in his notebooks I don't even recognize."
(He looks at Jalal, guilt heavy in his eyes.)
"Do you think he'll hate me?
Do you think one day… he'll forgive me?"
Jalal pulled a worn photograph from his pocket and placed it on the table.
"And these?"
"Leila… and Sarah.
They're still so small… but somehow, they force me to keep living.
Even though I think about fleeing this country every single day."
Grisha studied the photo carefully.
"Do you think Zeke will ever meet one of them?"
"When there are no Titans… no walls… no Marley?"
Jalal answered quietly, staring into the distance:
"By then, we may not be here to see it.
But the thought alone… is worth living for."
Silence returned—but this time, it carried reflection rather than tension.
Grisha emptied his cup in one desperate motion.
"Tell me, Jalal… are we insane?"
"Trying to change something written two thousand years ago?"
Jalal smiled, caught between irony and belief.
"I'm the other madman, working on a serum to return Titans to their human form.
And I know they'll turn it into a weapon, not salvation.
Yet I keep working on it anyway."
"Isn't that madness?"
Grisha laughed until he coughed.
"Two madmen in a tavern, dreaming of changing the world.
That sounds like the title of a book."
Jalal suddenly grew serious.
"You know… in my old homeland, in deserts you've never seen,
there's a legend about an Arab man.
A nameless man.
He freed Ymir from her chains when her power multiplied her suffering."
"But he died… because the world couldn't bear the idea that a slave could free another slave."
Grisha (mocking):
"And you believe that legend?
You—a man of science?"
Jalal smiled wide, his eyes glowing with a strange faith.
"Sometimes, Grisha…
we need to believe in a legend
just to keep walking toward the truth."
He whispered, as if the wind itself carried his voice:
"Born in the sand, no name, no banner,
He saw Ymir weeping—and shattered the tale's chains.
Not a prophet, nor a king,
Just a man… who believed at the beginning."
Grisha laughed so hard his head dropped onto the table.
"Damn you.
You made me cry over an imaginary poem."
Jalal (with rare lightness):
"Or maybe it's the alcohol.
As for me—I get drunk on laughter alone."
That night, their words were nothing more than another cloud in a burning sky.
Neither of them knew that, somewhere else in Liberio,
Zeke was writing his report to Marley—
about a revolution
that would be strangled
before it ever learned how to breathe.
If you were in Jallal and Grisha's place…
🔘 Would you still create a cure, knowing it could be turned into a weapon?
🔘 Or would you destroy your research and let the world burn as it already is?
Leave ONE word in the comments:
Hope — Foolish — Necessary — Dangerous