"KIYOTAKAAA!"
A powerful shout, accompanied by a barrage of insistent knocks against the door, drags me out of my sleep. Certainly, a rude—and absolutely unnecessary—way to wake someone up.
It takes me a few seconds to sit up, stretching my arms with deliberate slowness. The dawn's cold seeps through the cracks and forces me to rub my shoulders before even thinking about moving. I walk over to the small mirror resting against the wall, calmly fix my hair, and adjust my clothes as if time didn't exist.
When I finally open the door, my dull brown eyes meet hers—bright blue, contrasting sharply with her furrowed brow.
"What's going on?" I ask, forcing my tone soft in hopes of gaining a few seconds of peace.
She hesitates, barely for an instant.
"Levi-san wants us to clean the upper floor," she answers, dragging her words like biting down on them is an effort.
I nod without saying more and close the door in her face. An annoyed whine sounds from the other side, but I file it mentally away in the drawer of things that don't matter.
If I had to describe this past month with a single word, it would be monotonous. And there is no word more pleasant and comfortable to me than that.
Since the mission to recover Eren and our return inside the walls, my public position has changed... everyone's has, to some extent. For the general population, it was a resounding "success," the second in recent history. For us, it was just confirmation of certain theories and the execution of plans that, unfortunately, cost more lives than expected.
I walk the halls of the old castle with memorized steps, calculating each footfall to make no noise. I turn a corner, and a lock of gray hair hits my eyes. Connie passes by, and our shoulders collide with a solid bump.
At another point in my life, I might have stopped to analyze it. Connie... if that illusion of "student life" I once imagined still stood, you probably would have been close to me. But at this point, none of that is worth it.
I suppose seeing my name associated with the strategy that recovered Eren was too much for him, although, honestly, I myself lost consciousness at the crucial moment.
Miscalculation? I don't think so. On the huge board that is this war, that wasn't even a sacrificed piece. It was an irrelevant move. It wasn't my failure... it simply didn't matter enough.
I open my eyes, and the first beat I feel isn't my heart's, but the throb of every wound claiming its existence. The pain is absolute, uniform, but at the same time distinct in every part of my body: burns that pulse with a muted heat, fractured bones that seem to creak with every breath, cuts and tears mixed until I lose count. A complete inventory of damage.
My blurry sight focuses on the sky. The clouds move with insulting calm, oblivious to everything happening below. The cold cement against my back is a simple truth: I'm still alive, and I'm not where I should be.
My eyes barely shift to the right. There, a familiar face watches me.
—I hoped that in this moment my sister would be the first thing I saw upon waking... —my voice is low, almost a whisper, but enough to break the silence—. I guess she has other priorities... right, Historia?
She lowers her gaze for a moment, as if my words weigh on her. Then she answers without hesitation:
—She's taking care of Eren...
—I see —my reply is automatic.
Silence settles between us. Only the faint echo of my uneven breathing breaks the stillness.
—Why? —her voice barely holds.
—Why what?
—What did you tell her?
Something warm hits my shoulder. It's not rain. The drops fall chaotically, unable to follow a rhythm.
—What did you do for her to decide to leave me here? —her words break.
—...
I slowly raise my gaze to meet hers. I don't look away. I place my hand on hers with a gesture that seems more instinctive than conscious.
"I have no idea what she's thinking —I say calmly—. But if I know one thing, it's that she wants what's best for you."
Historia presses her lips together. She doesn't pull away.
"What's best for me" —she repeats, almost as if trying to convince herself.
"If someone has to carry something... she'd rather do it alone. Not to punish you. Not to leave you. Just because she thinks that way you're safe.
I let the silence fill the space again. No need to press her; the weight of her own doubts will do the rest.
"You trust people too much" —I add finally—. Maybe that's why Ymir believes in you so much.
Her breath catches, searching for a reply that doesn't come.
I hold her gaze a moment longer.
"And if you want to blame someone..." I add in a low voice, almost a whisper, "blame the enemy. Not those who keep fighting for you."
I withdraw my hand as calmly as I put it, letting the weight of silence fall over her.
------------------------------------------
A fist crosses my vision before I can count to three.
I don't raise my arms. There's no need.
The impact makes my head turn to the left, and a metallic taste floods my mouth.
"Bastard!" Connie growls, his voice tearing more than his punches.
Another punch, this time to my stomach. The air escapes me with a dry sound, but my legs remain firm. My hands, hanging inert by my sides, seem like those of a spectator, not a participant.
The hallway floor thunders with each of Connie's steps as he comes closer. He doesn't give me a break. The next assault pushes me against the wall, and a thin line of blood trickles from the corner of my lips.
"Why...?" his voice breaks in the middle of his fury. "Why did you have to...?"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
No need.
The meaning is in his eyes: a poisonous mix of rage and something I don't want to define.
My eyelids blink slowly, as if with each closure I could isolate myself one second more from this scene. He grabs me by the collar and shakes me, as if answers would fall from me.
"Look at me!" he spits, his breath hot and desperate.
I do. Enough for him to notice there's no resistance, no rancor... no guilt. Only an empty reflection, incapable of giving him the satisfaction he seeks.
His third blow to my face is stronger. I feel the skin split over my cheekbone and a hot drop mixes with the blood I already had on my lips. My head tilts by inertia, but the rest of my body remains still.
"You're a... fucking bastard, FIGHT!!!" he spits, as if the word tastes bitter.
I let him speak. I won't correct him. I won't excuse myself.
The hallway fills with the echo of punches and his ragged breathing, and amidst it all, my silence starts to weigh heavier than any answer.
At some point, Connie takes a step back, trembling. His fist hangs suspended in the air, as if doubting something.
I stay there, not wiping the blood from my face, not averting my gaze.
"Filthy monster... you didn't even have the decency to cry..."
His jaw trembles. He wants to say more, but doesn't. Instead, he shoves me roughly and walks away, leaving behind a silence denser than before.
I let myself fall slowly against the wall, as if every centimeter my muscles give up is someone else's victory. The dried blood on my face doesn't hurt. Not now. Not even Connie's rage can pierce this layer of indifference I've carried for a long time.
I suppose it's fair. That someone returns a bit of the damage I, unintentionally, caused. They call it guilt. But it's not that. Not for me.
Guilt is a feeling. And feelings become weaknesses when allowed to grow unchecked. I can't afford that kind of mistake. Not now. Not with the burden I carry.
Monster? Maybe. Perhaps what I am doesn't fit any human definition. I don't cry because I've learned crying changes nothing. It doesn't heal. It only opens wounds no one bothers to mend.
The human mind is both a prison and a battlefield. It hides monsters that, if given the chance, devour everything left of oneself. I'm not here to feed those monsters, but to control them, even if it means extinguishing the light that once made me human.
This distance I feel, this invisible barrier I raise between them and me, is not a lack of affection or empathy. It's a necessary armor, forged in the cold steel of sacrifice.
Because in this world, vulnerability is synonymous with death. And I'm here to survive, not to mourn the loss of those who couldn't bear the burden.
Sasha... this is my way of protecting you. I can't show you my cracks, not now. If I did, everything would collapse. And then, there wouldn't even be a monster left to blame.
Only a void.
A void where words lose meaning and memories become chains.
And yet, here I am, standing. Because even in silence, in pain, and in loneliness, there is something I must do. Something I must be.
Even if no one cares.
Even if I myself have long forgotten.
VOTE + COMENT + FOLLOW
Whew! I've missed this...
Just a short chapter to remind you all that I'm still here. The past few months have been long and challenging, but I love this story, and I'm going to finish it—even if it takes me years.
How's everyone been? I love you all❤️