The Morning That Wasn't the Same
A Corridor That Didn't Belong to the Morning
Sarah returned to the headquarters shortly after.
Her steps were light, almost soundless, as if she were afraid the echo of her presence might disturb something fragile she had only just reclaimed. The small music device was still in her hand, its melody now softer, reduced to a whisper—like a secret she refused to let go of.
She wasn't singing.
She was murmuring the words under her breath, holding onto them the way one clings to a lifeline when silence grows too heavy.
With every step, the sound felt misplaced in these stone corridors.
A fragment of sunlight dragged through shadow.
A memory trespassing where it didn't belong.
Connie was sitting on the floor near the entrance, tightening the straps of his boots. He froze when the sound reached him.
His head lifted slowly.
"What… is that?"
His voice was barely audible, as if he feared the sound might vanish if he startled it.
Sarah stopped.
She raised the device slightly, then smiled—an easy, almost playful smile, edged with caution.
"A music player," she said softly.
"A souvenir from a world that no longer exists for me."
She hesitated, then added, gently:
"If you'd like, I can show you how it works after breakfast."
Connie stared at the device as though it were something enchanted. Something he didn't trust—but couldn't look away from.
"Even Zeke didn't bring anything like this…" he murmured.
Sarah didn't respond.
She simply continued down the corridor, the melody fading behind her like a promise half-kept.
The Bathroom – Steam and Quiet
When she emerged, her hair was damp, steam still clinging to the strands like breath that hadn't yet decided to leave. The scent of soap followed her—clean, subtle, out of place.
She dressed in fresh clothes, fingers combing through her hair with distracted ease. Her eyes were clearer now, though whatever weighed on her chest had not fully lifted.
For a moment—just a moment—she didn't look like an outsider.
She looked like someone who belonged.
Even if no one was ready to admit it.
Breakfast – The Table of Unspoken Things
They gathered around the table as they always did.
Same chairs.
Same plates.
Same silence.
Sarah took her place between Mikasa and Sasha. She turned the music off and placed the device beside her plate. Even muted, its presence felt loud—an artifact of a world they didn't understand.
Sasha eyed it suspiciously, then leaned closer.
"Does that thing really play by itself?"
Her tone carried more awe than doubt.
"I've never heard anything like it."
Sarah smiled faintly.
"It plays," she said.
"And it reminds me.
I used it when I ran… or when I needed to stop thinking."
Mikasa turned toward her slowly. Her gaze wasn't sharp—just attentive.
"Carrying music with you every morning," she said quietly,
"That means you haven't given up hope yet, doesn't it?"
Sarah paused.
She looked down at her plate, then answered with the honesty of someone who no longer saw the point in hiding.
"Maybe," she said.
"Or maybe I'm just resisting collapse."
She lifted her teacup, as if preparing herself for something heavier.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to the capital."
The words settled over the table like dust.
"There's a chance," she continued,
"Small—but real.
If I succeed, I might finally reach my sister's file."
Sasha's expression dimmed.
"A formal trip?"
"Something like that," Sarah replied.
"I'll be going with Commander Hange."
Mikasa didn't answer immediately.
"Are you ready?" she asked at last.
Sarah turned her gaze toward the window, toward a sky that offered no reassurance.
"No one is ever ready to save the ones they love," she said.
"But we try anyway… don't we?"
Silence followed.
Not heavy.
Not light.
Just… suspended.
Across the table, Levi had finished his meal in silence.
But when Sarah spoke those words, his hand froze above his teacup.
Something unseen tightened.
As she continued asking about the capital—routes, security, boundaries—her questions weren't born of curiosity.
They were anchors.
Attempts to remain present in a world that had yet to decide whether it would accept her.
Sasha pushed food around her plate absentmindedly.
Mikasa stared into her cup, as though reading something written there.
Eren sat rigid, eyes fixed on nothing—listening to everything, responding to nothing.
Connie watched Sarah with a quiet sadness.
That short melody from earlier still echoed somewhere inside him.
Then Levi spoke.
His voice cut through the air like steel.
"You should learn the rules of this place first, Sarah," he said coolly.
"The capital isn't a gallery for wandering freely. And this isn't a game."
The table fell silent.
Sarah looked up at him calmly.
No fear.
No surprise.
She had been expecting this.
"And that device," Levi continued, his tone sharpening,
"It doesn't belong here. Nothing in this headquarters resembles Marley. And it won't start now."
The air grew thin.
Connie's voice broke through, hesitant.
"But… it was beautiful, Captain," he said quietly.
"I didn't understand the words—but the music alone was enough."
Levi didn't reply.
His silence was enough to make Connie lower his gaze, retreating into himself.
Sarah's voice remained steady.
"I understand, Captain," she said.
"I'll follow the rules."
Mikasa looked between them, unreadable.
Sasha opened her mouth—then closed it.
Even the table seemed to lose its appetite.
Levi wasn't angry at her.
He was angry at himself.
At the way he had begun to notice details he never noticed before.
The faint scent she carried.
The way she sat—unmilitary, unguarded.
The small necklace resting against her skin.
The letter engraved upon it.
M.
Her sister's name began with L.
And he hated that he noticed.
The Garden Where Silence Learned to Breathe
After breakfast, the headquarters returned to its disciplined rhythm.
Orders echoed across the training yard. Steel met steel. Boots struck the ground in measured cadence. Everything moved as it always had—precise, unforgiving, predictable.
Sarah did not belong to that rhythm.
She wasn't required to train, and for once, she allowed herself not to pretend otherwise.
She changed into simple clothes—faded jeans the color of a dying sunset, a soft pink shirt knotted at her waist. Her hair, still slightly damp from the morning shower, brushed against her neck as she stepped outside, carrying a thick book on biochemical theory. Its pages were worn, corners bent, margins crowded with notes written in a hand that refused to be neat.
The garden behind the headquarters was quiet.
Not empty—quiet.
Trees stood like retired soldiers, their branches swaying gently, as if they had long accepted the world's cruelty and chosen peace anyway. Birds moved freely between leaves, unaware of borders, ranks, or wars.
Sarah sat on a wooden bench beneath blooming oleander, opened her book, and tried to read.
She truly tried.
But the words wouldn't stay still.
They blurred, slipped away, lost meaning in a place that offered her no mental rest. The silence around her wasn't calm—it was loud in a way only the lonely understand.
She closed the book slowly.
Not out of boredom—but out of surrender.
Her gaze drifted.
And without realizing it, her feet carried her toward the stables.
The Stable – Where Shadows Remember
The smell of hay and leather met her first.
Then she saw him.
A black horse stood alone at the far end of the stable.
Not restless.
Not tied too tightly.
Just… waiting.
His coat shimmered under filtered sunlight, dark as poured ink. His eyes were deep, alert, holding a quiet fire that didn't threaten—it observed. He wasn't aggressive.
He was selective.
Sarah stopped several steps away.
Something in her chest tightened—not fear, but recognition.
"Why do you look like you understand me?" she whispered.
She moved closer.
Slowly. Carefully.
As if approaching a memory rather than an animal.
She extended her hand.
Her fingers brushed his forehead.
The horse stilled completely.
Then—
he neighed.
Sharp. Powerful.
A sound that declared: I am not for everyone.
Yet he didn't pull away.
Sarah didn't flinch.
She smiled, just barely.
"So… you agree to my presence," she murmured.
"Would you allow me to try?"
It was reckless.
She knew that.
But something deeper than logic urged her forward—something ancient and quiet.
She mounted him in one fluid motion.
He accepted her weight.
And then—
he moved.
Not at her command.
At his own.
They surged forward, leaving the stable behind, the world narrowing into motion and wind and breath.
Sarah wasn't running away.
She was running into something.
The Training Yard – A Disturbance
Commands rang out.
Levi stood beneath a tall tree, arms crossed, eyes sharp, posture rigid. He noticed everything.
Then—
A piercing neigh cut through the air.
Mikasa froze.
Her head turned slowly.
She didn't need to see clearly to know.
"There," she said quietly, approaching Levi.
"Sarah… she's on Hero. He chose to run."
Levi didn't answer immediately.
Then, cold and clipped:
"Is she insane?"
Mikasa's voice remained calm.
"If she intended to escape," she said,
"she wouldn't have done it in daylight."
Levi's jaw tightened.
In one swift motion, he drew his blade, mounted his horse, and rode toward the forest like a storm that didn't ask permission.
The Forest – Where Words Cut Deeper Than Steel
Wind tore at Sarah's hair as the forest opened around her.
For a moment—just one—she felt free.
Then she heard him.
Hooves. Fast. Controlled.
Her instincts reacted before her thoughts.
Levi.
"Stop. Now."
His voice cracked through the trees like thunder.
Hero halted on his own.
Levi was upon her in seconds.
One hand yanked the reins.
The other lifted his blade—
the steel resting against her throat without drawing blood.
His voice was low. Lethal.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Her breath caught—but her eyes didn't flee.
"I just…"
Her voice faltered, then steadied.
"I wanted to feel something different."
His stare burned.
"Different?"
"You think this is a game? Hero doesn't allow anyone near him—not soldiers, not veterans. And you—where did you get the audacity?"
She didn't argue.
She didn't apologize.
She simply said, softly:
"I didn't ask him to run.
He chose me.
I didn't refuse."
Their eyes met.
Fire against water.
The forest fell silent.
The Lake – Confession Without Witnesses
Hero stopped at the water's edge.
Sarah dismounted slowly, knees brushing the grass. She sat near the lake, staring at her reflection as if unsure it belonged to her anymore.
Levi stood behind her.
"Hero doesn't trust easily," he said at last.
"How did you do it?"
She touched the necklace at her throat.
"Every black horse," she whispered,
"returns me to the wrong moment in time."
She swallowed.
"I once had one like him. A gift… from someone I believed would never leave."
Her hand trembled over the letter engraved in metal.
"When he left…
every beautiful thing after him felt like a reminder."
Levi said nothing.
For the first time—
he didn't lead the horse away.
He stood beside her, watching the water distort and settle.
Two people.
Two histories.
Neither ready to be spoken aloud.
The First Night of Fracture
Night descended without ceremony.
The headquarters settled into its familiar stillness—lamps dimmed, voices lowered, corridors emptied. It was the kind of night that usually offered rest.
For Sarah, it offered none.
She lay on the unfamiliar bed, staring at a ceiling that didn't recognize her existence. The sheets smelled clean but empty, like borrowed space. When she closed her eyes, darkness didn't cradle her.
It opened.
Voices surged back without warning.
Her father's shout the night they took him.
Her mother's shaking hands pushing her into a wooden closet—
Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't cry.
Boots on stone.
Metal scraping metal.
Truth dragged away by force.
Then—
Matthis.
His face as it once was.
And then… as it became.
"We live in different worlds, Sarah.
You dream too much.
I can't afford dreams."
The words burned themselves into her chest like carved stone.
She turned onto her side, pressing a hand over her heart as if pressure could extinguish memory.
But fire does not die when smothered.
It waits.
She exhaled slowly, whispering to herself what she had refused to admit:
"This is the first night… that Paradise feels no different from Marley."
Silence answered.
Not even darkness offered comfort.
Midnight – When Walls Breathe
She woke abruptly, breath stolen, chest tight.
The room felt smaller.
The walls closer.
Not physically—emotionally.
She rose carefully, as though pain might wake if startled.
Outside, the air was cold, carrying the dampness of early autumn. It brushed her skin gently, kinder than the room she left behind.
She walked to the old bench beneath the tree—the one that looked forgotten by time—and sat as though resting her soul rather than her body.
From her pocket, she pulled out a cigarette.
Her fingers trembled as she lit it.
Smoke curled upward, carrying with it every unsaid word she'd swallowed since arriving.
She tilted her head back, eyes closed.
And then she sang.
Softly. Brokenly.
A Marleyan lullaby her mother used to hum on rainy evenings.
A language no one here understood.
A melody soaked in grief and love and endurance.
It wasn't loud.
But it stopped the night.
From the shadows between the trees, Levi stood motionless.
He hadn't meant to follow the sound.
But it found him.
A woman.
A cigarette.
An enemy's song.
And something in his chest—something long dormant—shifted painfully.
The Intrusion
The cigarette burned low.
Sarah reached for another.
Before her fingers touched it, a hand intercepted—swift, decisive.
Levi crushed the cigarette beneath his boot.
"Enough."
His voice was quiet. Final.
She didn't look startled.
Only tired.
"Hange sent word," he continued, more sharply now.
"She's delayed in the capital. You'll be staying here for several days. Until then—follow the rules. Or don't leave your room."
It sounded like an order.
But beneath it—something faltered.
Sarah lifted her gaze slowly.
"I understand," she said softly.
"I've always been a disturbance."
The words weren't angry.
They were old.
She stood, brushing dirt from her jeans like someone saying goodbye to a place they never owned.
"Don't worry. This will end soon."
She didn't wait for a response.
She walked back toward the building, dissolving into the dark as quietly as smoke fades.
Levi stayed behind.
Watching the empty bench.
Feeling something leave.
Something he never claimed—
yet somehow lost.
"Why," he murmured to the night,
"does it feel like I've lost something important… without ever holding it?"
Levi – A Room Without Answers
He returned to his quarters slowly.
Too slowly.
He shut the door without sound and sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, head bowed.
The room felt unfamiliar.
Heavy.
"She's just reckless," he muttered.
"An unnecessary burden."
But the word burden echoed wrong.
Blood.
Loss.
Since when did her presence feel like a prelude to either?
He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping hard—as if pain could silence memory.
But his mind replayed it anyway:
Her voice when she said this will end soon.
The way she didn't accuse—only accepted.
The moon outside the window was fractured—half whole, half broken.
Like him.
Flashback — "The Promise That Still Breathes"
As Sarah rode the black horse Hero through the forest, his steady breaths beneath her stirred something old—
something buried.
Each stride pulled her backward through time, as though the rhythm of his movement unlocked a door memory had never truly closed.
It felt less like remembering…
and more like returning.
Ten Years Earlier – The Garden of Her Grandfather's Estate
Autumn had arrived quietly that year.
Sarah was eighteen.
She stood beneath an old jasmine tree in the back garden of her grandfather's estate, its white blossoms defying the chill, releasing their scent into the cold air as if refusing to surrender to the season.
She was still only a girl then.
Not a soldier.
Not a scientist.
Just a heart that believed love alone could build a future.
Footsteps emerged from the shadows.
Matthis.
His presence always carried warmth—effortless, unguarded. That night, he was leading a magnificent black horse by the reins. Its coat shimmered like polished night, its eyes deep and intelligent, watching the world with quiet awareness.
Sarah froze.
"Her name is Ward," Matthis said gently, a smile softening his face.
"But you can change it… if you want."
She stared at him, disbelief flooding her expression.
Then he added, more quietly—almost reverently:
"This horse… is your dowry, Sarah."
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Tears welled instantly, unashamed.
The world narrowed to that moment—
the horse, the jasmine, his voice.
That night felt unreal. Fragile. Like a dream the universe might reclaim at any second.
It was also the night she received the necklace she still wore to this day—
a delicate chain, bearing a single engraved letter:
M
A promise she never imagined would become a wound.
Return to the Present — The Forest
Levi's shout tore through the memory.
"Stop—now!"
The cold flash of steel near her throat shattered the illusion, dragging her violently back to reality.
As she dismounted Hero, Sarah lifted her eyes slowly to Levi's face. Her voice came out barely audible—more breath than sound.
"I thought I'd lost you… Ward."
Levi heard the whisper.
He didn't understand the words.
But he understood the expression.
He had seen that look before—
on soldiers who returned without those they loved.
His gaze fell again to the necklace at her throat.
The engraved M.
A letter she had never explained.
Between the horse, the whispered name, and the pendant…
there was a story he had not been allowed to hear yet.
But it had already begun to change something inside him—
whether he wanted it to or not.
Questions for the Chapter
Do you think Sarah's actions were reckless…
or was she searching for a lost feeling no one else could understand?
Why do you think the horse, Hero, allowed her to ride him
despite refusing everyone else?
Has Levi's heart truly begun to crack in the presence of this mysterious woman?
And if so… what do you think will change after that night?
Chapter Closing
And so ends the journey of this chapter—
a chapter written in motion and silence,
in rebellion and fear,
in memories that refuse to die,
and in hearts struggling to survive despite everything.
If you've reached these lines, know that I write them with genuine gratitude.
Your presence in this world means more than you can imagine.
Every like, every comment, every star you leave behind
is like a quiet flower placed on Sarah's desk—
a reminder that her journey is seen,
and that she does not walk alone.
Did Sarah's recklessness resonate with you, despite its danger?
Do you believe Levi's heart has truly begun to fracture?
And do you think Sarah will submit to the rules of Paradis—
or change them in her own way?
If this chapter touched you, even slightly,
please don't forget to leave a star or a few words.
Your voice is the pulse that keeps this story alive.
Until the next chapter…
my heart is with you, always.
The next morning, nothing felt familiar to Levi.
He had slept—barely.
Which, in itself, was unusual.
Exhaustion without a name had finally claimed him, slumped over his wooden desk, his face resting against his forearm, as though the night had wrung him dry of emotions he refused to name.
Silence still ruled the room.
Until it didn't.
A stubborn beam of sunlight pierced through the thin curtain—warm, clear, almost deliberate, as if the sun itself had decided to wake him without permission.
Levi opened his eyes slowly.
Then froze.
A sound…?
No.
Not footsteps.
Not military commands.
Not the scrape of steel against leather.
Music.
Strange. Soft. Weightless.
It drifted in from somewhere beyond the walls—somewhere in the garden.
He rose slowly, his scowl not yet fully formed, though his body tensed as if danger might follow. He stepped closer to the window, eyes narrowing as he searched for the source.
And then he saw her.
Sarah.
Moving beneath an abandoned tree, barefoot against the earth.
Dressed in dark athletic clothes, her hair tied up in a careless, beautiful mess.
Her body bent and stretched in a rhythm unfamiliar to this world—as though she were performing a ritual no one else knew.
But it wasn't her movements that unsettled him.
It was the small device resting beside her, placed on the edge of a stone bench.
That was where the sound came from.
That strange melody… foreign, unrecognizable—nothing like anything on the island.
His frown deepened.
"Where did that come from…?"
The words slipped out under his breath as he stared at the device, as though it were an intruder.
No one here owned such things.
No one here would dare to play something so loud at this hour.
But she had.
The song floated between the trees, weaving itself into her movements, as though it had arrived from another time… another continent… another past that had nothing to do with him.
He watched in silence.
She breathed deeply, her face tilted toward the sun, and with every motion she breathed life into a garden that had never been alive before.
She wasn't exercising.
She was freeing herself.
Levi's hand tightened around the window frame.
His hair was tangled from sleep.
His heart—entangled by something else entirely.
"So now… even the light doesn't wake me alone anymore."
The words tasted bitter as he whispered them to himself.
He turned away.
But he couldn't silence the melody that had settled inside him.
Nor erase the image now burned into his memory.
As if something had broken that morning.
Or—
As if something had begun to take shape.