As expected, Wall Maria had already been completely overrun by Titans.
Even from a small breach, countless Titans had poured inside, spreading like a flood. Lock had every reason to believe this was Reiner and Bertholdt's doing. Most likely, they had used their Titan abilities to guide the Pure Titans within the walls—or worse, used Titan spinal fluid to transform nearby civilians.
Whichever method they used, the result was the same: the instant the Colossal Titan kicked through the gate, the war between Marley and Paradis Island had begun.
There was no right or wrong in war—only sides. And neither side could afford to lose.
The rulers within the walls might not have realized it yet, but this was no longer an isolated attack. It was an invasion. And it would not end until one side was annihilated.
The hiss of gas broke the silence.
Lock swung through the crumbling streets, cutting down a wandering Titan that lunged toward him. His blades flashed in the twilight, slicing clean through the back of its neck. The steaming corpse hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Landing lightly on a nearby rooftop, he looked over at Petra and the others, who were scanning the perimeter.
"Any more Titans nearby?" he asked.
Petra shaded her eyes and replied, "Doesn't look like it. It's getting dark—most of them will slow down soon. We should be able to rest tonight."
Lock nodded. "Eld, Gunther—did you finish recording our findings?"
Both men gave crisp replies.
"Yes. We've documented everything. We'll refine the notes and add details after dinner."
"Good. Oluo, supplies?"
"Seven canisters of gas left," Oluo reported, for once without sarcasm. "Food should last us about a week. We can scavenge what we need from nearby houses."
Lock gave a curt nod. "Then we'll stay here for the night. Petra, you're on dinner duty."
"Leave it to me~" Petra answered cheerfully.
For the first time that day, the tension in the air seemed to ease.
It had been four days since they'd left Trost. Four days of fighting, scouting, and navigating through endless ruins. They had cut down more Titans than they could count and passed through more shattered villages than they cared to remember.
And through it all—silence.
No survivors. Not one.
Every home they entered was empty. Every town was nothing but dust and broken beams. Even the countryside, once filled with laughter and livestock, had fallen eerily quiet.
Only the Titans remained, wandering through the wasteland that was once humanity's territory.
Petra and the others had tried to stay strong, but the despair of it all weighed heavily on them. Their jokes faded, their smiles disappeared, replaced by quiet resignation.
Lock had seen it before—soldiers losing hope one mission at a time. There was no quick fix. He could only trust that they would recover on their own.
Tonight, at least, there was warmth.
As the sun sank, smoke rose from the small fire Petra had built. The smell of stew drifted through the half-ruined house. The flickering firelight painted a rare sense of life against the desolation outside.
Lock leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Petra, your cooking's improving."
Petra smiled faintly. "It's edible, at least."
Oluo rolled his eyes. "Tch, rookie, don't praise her too much or she'll start thinking she's a chef."
"I won't," Petra replied sharply, glaring at him.
That earned a burst of laughter from Eld and Gunther.
"Haha! Oluo, better be careful—you'll be eating dry rations if she decides to get revenge," Eld teased.
"Yeah," Gunther added with a grin. "You offend Petra, you starve."
Oluo's expression instantly shifted. "Hey, come on, Petra—you wouldn't be that cruel, right?"
Petra pouted. "Maybe I would~"
Laughter filled the room again.
For a fleeting moment, the war outside felt far away.
Lock watched them quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Good. They're laughing again.
Just as he took another bite, a faint creak echoed from below the floorboards.
Lock froze.
In an instant, everyone's mood shifted. The laughter vanished. Petra, Eld, Gunther, and Oluo reached for their blades without a word. The air grew tense, sharp as drawn steel.
Then—
Crrrk…
A section of the floor beside the fireplace shifted. Wooden boards scraped against each other, and a pale hand reached through the gap.
Everyone stood ready.
Slowly, a figure climbed out—a girl, around fifteen or sixteen, with black hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked frightened, her eyes darting between the soldiers.
A human.
Petra's expression softened immediately. She lowered her blades and rushed forward. "It's okay! You're safe now!"
Eld exhaled heavily. Gunther let out a low whistle.
"Finally… a survivor," he murmured.
For days, they'd found nothing but corpses and ruins. The idea that someone—anyone—had managed to survive in this wasteland brought an almost painful rush of relief.
Petra embraced the girl gently, whispering words of comfort. The others watched with quiet smiles.
But Lock didn't move.
He stood in place, eyes narrowing, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
There was something familiar about her face. Something buried deep in his memory.
Then it clicked.
His expression shifted.
"Ymir…" he muttered under his breath.
He hadn't expected to see her her, of all places.
The girl stiffened slightly, as if recognizing her name, but said nothing.
Lock's eyes darkened. This mission had just become far more complicated than he'd planned.
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