Chapter Text
“Come out upon my seas.
Cursed missed opportunities am I
Apart of the cure
Or am I part of the disease?”
Coldplay; ‘Clocks’
All at once, shattered shards of memories engulfed his head. Slotting together like the pieces to an unsolved jigsaw puzzle.
His mind rattled with bewilderment, all but baffled of how they all fit together. Whether they were skimmed, replaced, vanquished, past, present, future -- or better yet, how they lead to him being here in the first place.
Oh, right.
He had turned back time.
Back to when everything started.
The ocean waves lapped relentlessly at the city’s freshly-carved wooden pier. Roofs of abundant Marleyan homes extended outwards only to vanish along the distant shore.
Sunlight bled its way through thick blankets of white clouds and glossed the surface of the dark water with streaks of gold.
Massive ships towered at Eren’s sides, still-so-smooth lumber under his feet and the fresh salt water dripping from his palms so strangely nostalgic.
He savored the sweet scent of salt through his nose. It was something he hadn’t noticed so much the first time he was there. Hell, even the foul scent of dead fish somehow became appealing.
Everything was so… calm.
Serene. Nostalgic. Even with the seagulls squawking and the people scattering behind him, Jean and Connie’s bewildered words of how incredible ice cream was…
It was something familiar.
But he knew it would only last so long. Soon, after the short hours of exploring the city and relishing the comforting ease, he would be back in that refugee tent. Slurping at the liquor in a rusty tin can, contemplating the future.
Back to Mikasa’s wandering eyes and bottles of wine littered at every corner. The dim, country sunset trickling through the thin walls of the camp.
When Armin spoke to him again, Eren was tempted to give him advice for what would come. To never give up, even at the brink of helplessness.
But instead, as always, Eren rehearsed the same lines from before.
“No thanks, I’m fine here.”
“What’s what?”
“No, what makes you say that?”
“Yeah. Of course. You guys are my family, I would never lie to you.”
As grateful as he was for being able to talk to his family again, his world was beginning to feel like a story being retold on repeat.
His words held less weight to them. His heart held less sorrow. Even the wisping flames on wax candles appeared somber and dull.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the situation felt more like a nuisance than a burden.
Nevertheless, Armin’s final verse still struck him just as hard as it did the first time. No matter how drunk and stupid he was, his words still struck true.
“We love you… you know that, right?”
Eren found himself wishing his words could, too.
“I know. I love you, too. All of you.”
I just…
Eren’s thoughts ended up slipping to his tongue, “I just hope it’ll last…”
He felt Armin falter a bit as he shifted in their both awkward and bittersweet embrace. His head lifted briefly, fingers flexing uncertainly... Eren felt the blond’s eyelashes flutter against his shoulder.
Almost as if he, too, was afraid of waking up from a long dream.
When Armin slipped away, those big, befuddled blue eyes glossing over him, so sickeningly similar to the drugged stupor he was forced into before.
Something was knicking at his brain, perhaps something he had forgotten, long ago. It wasn't just memories, no.
It was something… recent, something dangling at the tip of his tongue, so sweet yet so bitter to taste. Like licking at something stuck between teeth, reaching out for something still so far away.
They're all going to die soon...
No… I'm going to kill them.
Breaking himself free from paranoid thoughts, Eren decided to intervene.
“You’ll forgive me if I do anything stupid, right?”
He forced a small chortle, despite fearing those thoughts to be true.
Armin smiled at that: a big, beaming, somewhat-crooked grin, just as bright as it was in his youth, “I always do,” a hiccup interrupted his abrupt wave of chuckles, “So does Mikas’ka. You should know that by now.”
“I know.” Eren’s lips perked up ever-so-slightly. His pupils flicked downward, inspecting the sharp blades of glass already scattered on the floor.
His hand reached up to pat his long-lost friend on the shoulder.
“Thank you.”
. . .
Eren awoke to the sound of chirping crickets.
He lay there a moment, inspecting the traces of fabric in the tent’s ceiling. Each crosshatch intersecting, merging, growing into something much greater.
The room's scent seemed more sweet than sour. And the dust particles began floating across the room and churning white in the sun’s embrace. Flittering off and on as they fluttered into the shadows. In such a mesmerizing formation. A pattern.
So much like him and his family, in a way.
They were all different shapes and clusters. Rolling in a pattern, tied to each other....
What would I be to them?
Eren bit his tongue at the thought.
To him, they were humanity’s last hope, beacons of light in the dark. Armin was the peacemaker. Mikasa was the protector.
What did that make him?
The one who destroyed everything. The one who set fire to the world in order to set the ones he loved free. Both a hero and villain. The destroyer, predator. Whether he liked it or not, that was the role he was required to play in this game of spades.
Only in the end would it be time for his family to draw their cards. Put him down like the mad dog they knew he was.
The brawny guard’s harsh words from a previous timeline still stuck in Eren’s mind. “It’s not our fault for putting a dog in its place,” he had said.
Maybe he was right, albeit in a close-minded, chastising way.
Eren was doing the same thing to them. Slaughtering them like dogs. No matter how much he tried to justify his actions and separate their beliefs, they were one of the same.
He needed to accept that he was no better than the people he was fighting against. And as much as the world tried to classify whether his actions were right or wrong, the outcome of his decisions was all that mattered.
Whether the world would crumble or would be born anew, all depended on him.
But deep down, Eren still couldn’t help but wonder.
Am I a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?
###
“What do you mean you don’t have enough?”
The boy stepped forward, his voice insisting enough to match his frantic blue eyes,
“Please. My friend has been sick for days, weeks even. She’ll die without it. I don’t even know how she’s lasted as long as she has, or even how many days she has left...”
The pupils pierced into his own, pleading and unfaltering, “Does the loss of another life mean nothing to you?”
Magath rubbed two fingers at the bridge of his nose, clearly agitated. He retracted his hand from his plump sack of supplies with a sigh,
“Money doesn’t grow on trees, kid. There’s already so many lives lost to war. Too many for one man to afford.” He patted his pockets for emphasis, “I’ve got a family who needs it, too.”
The blond visibly stiffened in place. His expression contorted into one of confliction, which soon marred into one that was hard to describe.
He still looked far less intimidating than most men the general had faced. He may have been a soldier previously, remarking his posture and frame. Even as short and skinny as he was, with those gangly dark grey pants dangling at his ankles and a simple faded blue sweater.
“You’re an authority, aren’t you? A Marleyan general.” The boy acknowledged, too smooth to be from anyone less than a soldier, “I know your military has plenty of stock if you were willing to share. It’s too much for just a handful of soldiers…based on the current number of fatalities, anyways...”
Magath’s brows narrowed ominously at the remark.
“I’ve seen dozens of children here die of colds in the winter. The tents' walls aren't thick enough to prove otherwise.” The former added, jabbing out an accusing finger, “You’d let them die, over selfishness. All for a few cans of liquor and a pack of cigarettes -- For an addiction, an escape from reality."
His voice became more harsh and degrading until it sounded like he was spitting bile, “After all the lives you’ve taken, is that all you can do? You should be ashamed of yourself. What kind of leader would put himself over his own people? Over his own soldiers? One that doesn’t deserve his rank, or his family. Or--”
---
The boy yelped, cruel words falling dead in his throat as he was yanked with the force of an ox.
‘I can’t breathe.’ Was Armin’s first coherent thought upon realizing his situation.
He could feel his feet dangling six inches off the ground. Two trembling hands coiling around his neck like a snake, cocking his chin up to meet the unstable leader face to face.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” The man muttered under his breath, disbelieving. Whether it was of Armin’s or his own actions was unclear, “Right now, and on this night of all nights…”
It was then Armin could see the brunette clear, under the glaze of a golden street lamp. His short black hair was shaved in a military buzz cut, with dark blue eyes, thick brows and stubble to match.
The crimson badge wound around his bicep stood out starkly from the black fabric he wore. A symbol to represent high status. One commonly associated among nobles and military leaders.
Wrinkles gnarled his aged skin, fury clear on his face as he snarled,
“You have no idea what I’ve gone through. You don’t understand the sacrifices I’ve been forced to make. Nor how many men I’ve lost in this worthless damned war.”
Armin tried to choke out a response, an inquiry, or maybe even a forced, half baked apology, but nothing could come out.
He could only stare back at the stranger in utter horror, internally barking curses at himself for being so foolish.
He had gone too far, he only wanted to make the man pity him, give him some aspirin or a few quarters or dimes, if anything. Not this.
But he was so sick of his miserable situation, that the sickness ended up spewing out in words.
He hadn’t lied about Mikasa’s status, however. He had seen the gaunt dimples in her cheeks growing deeper over the past few days.
If only the truth would’ve been enough to persuade a decent meal...
The Marleyan huffed out a sigh, anger dissipating from his tone.
“Not that it matters, anyway. It doesn’t matter. All we are, are cowards fighting amongst ourselves, on opposing sides. Scavengers, thieves, stealing the lives of anyone we can get our hands on.”
A distant, almost tormented look appeared in his eyes, “We’re all blind cowards. All it took for me to realize it, was a team of hostages we found in South Liberio. A girl and two boys, all part of the same team, pleading for their lives…”
Armin’s mind was quick to process his words, yet also disbelieving.
Could he possibly mean..?
“We’re all parasites here, nothing more.” The man concluded.
Armin glanced behind him to see the sack the general had previously slung over his shoulder. It lay there, long since discarded on the ground.
There were the beer bottles and blunts he had spotted before. As well as a bouquet and various accessories that he hadn’t spotted before.
The instant he put the pieces together, his stomach twisted into a knot.
He really messed up this time, shit.
The man’s fingers didn’t retreat like he had hoped. Instead, they twitched -- like the strange, subtle shift of the pupil gazing down at him, through thick, indigo waves -- and squeezed.
Instantly, Armin reacted. His fingers clawed at the pressure on his neck as he gagged for air, eyes bulging wide.
Instincts surged through his body like wildfire. He struggled, nails catching and piercing into skin deep enough to bleed.
It did nothing. The hands refused to let go.
He felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Helpless, pathetic, weak, just like he was with those men not so long ago.
He felt just like he did then -- tears bleeding into his eyes, images dancing in his vision, couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel, couldn’t see, couldn’t stop, please stop …
“ Stop, ” He managed to say, nothing but a meaningless croak, but still audible with clear distress.
The man said nothing.
Armin felt his face boil, hot prick at his skin, too hot, fire, red, white --
It was only then did he finally understand how Eren felt.
Felt the palms tightening, yet also faltering, glancing downwards to find the monster’s knuckles blanched white. Too much like his own.
Armin’s mindset fractured from multiple perspectives to one. He became the prey trembling in a predator’s jaws.
All he could think to do was fight, no words could be spoken, no distractions.
He flailed his legs, clawed at skin, a once recurring feral instinct consuming him, ‘Fight,’
Bared his teeth, screamed, wailed, sobbed, choked, tried to call out a name, even if there was no name to call out to. “Fight!”
Armin struck out one last time, fists barely beating into the general’s chest before falling limp at his sides. His shoulders slumped, eyes finally breaking from reality and becoming still.
They stayed dead set on the man in front of him, devoid of life -- even if he still lived, somehow.
He must have been dead, since it was only then that the Marleyan finally let go.
Armin didn’t feel himself crash to the pavement, only felt the sweet gush of glorious fresh oxygen surge into his aching lungs.
He choked on air, curling in on himself as his torso trembled with each agonizing breath. His eyes were probably bloodshot, burning like fiery embers, tears still rolling down his cheeks and his hair matted with sweat.
The blond watched as the Marleyan began to walk away. Watched the way his boots slinked back into the shadows.
He vaguely caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. Cool blue, much like his own. Yet incomprehensible, feeble, terrified.
No, that couldn’t be right.
He was supposed to be the one in peril, suffocated, terrified, he should’ve been the one with those eyes. Maybe he was looking into a mirror, or maybe at a face so thick he could peel it back like a mask.
The man stared at his palms as if they belonged to a stranger. So similar to what Armin faintly remembered someone doing before, so long ago.
The general looked back down at him, suddenly conflicted.
He seemed like he’d lost a part dear to him. Something vital, like an arm or leg, a son or daughter. Perhaps the loss blended together, to the point where he couldn’t differentiate what he’d lost anymore.
“I-I’m sorry.” He said, bringing his hands to the sides of his temples, “The violence must’ve gotten to me, after so long of seeing it…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut, “I should’ve known this would happen.”
Armin debated on responding, but decided against it. He wasn’t even sure if the man knew he was there, maybe not even alive. Much less due to the repetitive pounding in his head and buzzing filling his ears.
He could feel the man’s gaze bore into him. It took a moment for him to build the strength to look up again. But it was only because he felt something burning inside of his mouth.
Reluctantly, he parted his lips, only to taste the strong iron flavor of blood.
His heart thumped hard in his chest when the first thread of steam came into view.
‘How did that happen?’ The anxious thoughts swarmed like wildfire in his head, ‘Did I break my neck? Bite my tongue?’
The man’s feet staggered back again, boots clicking against concrete.
Armin’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his mind racing, praying that the reaction had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. That he was too delirious from near-suffocation to think straight.
He managed to roll onto his hands and knees, staggering to his feet. Even while his head throbbed and his chest ached from the motion. He ended up losing his balance, stumbling, and his knees locked up as pure panic pulsed through his veins.
Inevitably, he ended up tumbling back to the ground, his lungs burning, choking, and heart thumping hard as the man’s shadow leered over him.
‘Not again.’ Armin’s head screeched at him in desperation, ‘Not like this.’
But he couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t listen to his frantic pleads.
The boy could do no more than shuck his arms over his head and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to pretend it was all just a bad dream.
He could hear the man reaching for something on his belt, before pausing, as if unsure of how to react. Then, he heard the noise of metal grating against stone.
The Marleyan appeared just as stunned as Armin. For when Armin saw those empty, sorrowful, and conflicting eyes again, they were churned into raw terror.
Then, no more, as the slick edge of a make-shift silver blade tore through his jugular. Those streams of deep blue gradually lost their spark and grew hollow.
There was a gasping sound, a strangled gurgle. Red gushed like a morbid fountain of gore. It gathered into a thick puddle on the floor, not unlike slick ocean waves laving into dry sand.
Someone was touching him, grasping him firmly by both shoulders -- and although the touch was familiar, it didn’t stop Armin from reacting on instinct.
He lashed out, shouting with as much vigor as his sore throat would let him. Wasn’t even sure who he was calling out for anymore. He didn’t care to think past the panic, only thought of being the next victim of the being he was sure was hurting him some way, somehow.
“Armin, listen to me!”
Mikasa’s voice. Although, he had never heard her voice so loud.
“Calm down, it’s alright, calm down.”
He let himself relax at her words, feeling his rapid heart beat begin to settle in his chest. His fingers reluctantly uncurled from her arms.
“You’re safe now.”
He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It quickly distorted into something not unlike a tormented sob.
He tried to hold it back, but it wouldn’t stop.
…
Endless, nostalgic yet strange and uncanny music ignited through the lonely alleyways.
In unison, thunder rumbled ominously from the ghostly night sky. Murky orange and yellow clouds above swelled and churned the night into a strange sandstorm-like dusk.
Gradually, rain began to splatter onto the metal rooftops above. A recurring ‘thump thump thump’ that sounded more like a percussion beat than what it truly was. Drops rapidly gushed and trickled their way down, splattering onto the discolored pavement.
Nothing but rust and mold coated the lifeless brick walls. Which gave the place a distinct, musky odor. It was so quiet, apart from the strings and pattering rain. It wasn’t nearly as bustling with chatter and clacking shoes as it was the night before.
Armin’s calloused fingertips stroked the chords of a makeshift guitar.
He had found it not long ago, abandoned on the curb of an empty old road.
No traces of any previous owner remained. Only a slight, hardly decipherable name carved into the wooden base.
Armin didn’t know how to play by any means. His fingers might as well have been plucking at a rubber band tied around a cardboard box.
Nevertheless, the noise was a lively distraction from the real world, as brittle and cruel as it was. Each ugly, unfulfilling note was enough for the boy to close his eyes and relish the fact that they were still there, still alive, against the odds.
Mikasa didn’t seem to mind the noise either, at least. She simply glanced over at him and perked her lips a bit.
The guitar's thick strings grit at Armin’s fingertips as he continued rehearsing a long-forgotten song. Soon enough, the tune inevitably fell flat and the blond’s fingers retracted from the chords.
“Pretty good.” Mikasa said, her voice sounding more hoarse than it did the day before, “Do you mind if I try?”
--
Mikasa inspected the neglected guitar, tracing her thumb over a signature carved into its base. Across from her, Arlert decided to make use of the pile of sticks beside him.
Lightning struck again, white cracking the world like a whip. The haunting melody soon resonated even as the rain fell. It was still uncoordinated and clumsy, but there was an odd charm to it that couldn’t be described.
“Where did those come from?”
The tune halted abruptly.
Mikasa’s words came out of nowhere, successfully breaking Armin from his thoughts. Her eyes narrowed as his eyebrows rose.
“Hm?”
“The bruises.” The girl pointed to the place below his chin, “On your neck. Where did they come from?”
Her friend cast his gaze to the floor. His lips parted, clearly hesitant to respond.
“When I heard your voice earlier, then saw that man…” Mikasa continued softly, “I only saw that look on your face, and reacted. Didn’t even think of why he was there…” She set a palm to the back of her head, sifting through thin raven strands, “You didn’t intend to… interact with him for pay, did you?”
Armin’s eyes lit up at that, clearly appalled she would accuse such a thing, “No, of course not! I just,” He rubbed his face with his hands, “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I found him in an alleyway, buying drugs to cope with the outcome of the war. He was only going to a funeral to honor fallen soldiers.”
“I tried to convince a meal or money out of him, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve…”
He trailed off, catching the ruthless glare in Mikasa’s eyes. He knew what that meant.
“He attacked you.” She stated, “You had full right to retaliate. But you didn’t.” She paused with eerie silence, “So I did it for you.”
Armin glanced away from her, biting the inside of his cheek. He rubbed his hands together, pupils flittering, debating on responding. But inevitably, his fingers traced back to the mute chords of his guitar. He knew she was right.
Mikasa let out a soft exhale, then a deep breath to savor the sweet, metallic musk of rain, “I know the encounter with those men impacted you. You’ve never been the same since. And I… I can’t stop thinking about them either, or Eren…”
“What happened wasn’t our fault. If anything, we were just…”
“In the wrong place at the wrong time.” Armin remarked sourly. He stroked at the strings of his instrument, gradually finding a steady rhythm.
It was all repetitive, measly trial and error. Nonetheless, the chords grew from a clumsy, unflattering noise to a smooth, buttery melody. Almost as if his fingers had a mind of their own, they were fluttering up and down with almost timeless precision.
He shut his eyes, relishing the music as the rain continued to fall. In his head, he could practically hear a man singing the verses of a long forgotten song.
“Am I part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?”
…
Eventually, the nostalgic music was enough to lure Mikasa to sleep.
Armin knew that wasn’t the only reason, however. His friend was still on the brink of malnourishment and sickness as far as he could tell.
The dark circles under her eyes and the way her posture slumped backward gave him an unwanted surge of deja vu. It took his mind back to a place he never wanted to be again.
--------
“Move, runt.”
He’d felt a grip at his waist, hands on bare skin.
...Or did he?
What did it matter. He couldn’t tell a difference anymore. All of his senses had slugged together in one giant heaping mess. He might as well not even be there.
Still, he fought, fighting as much as his battered body was able. Struggling to keep his eyes open, even if he knew he didn’t want to see what was happening.
“Yeah, that’s more like it.”
He couldn’t tell which man was speaking. None of the words were clear enough to make it past his head.
“C’mon, lad... you’re still with us, aren'tcha?”
Words overlapped and intertwined in his head, but all with little to no meaning.
It was all just vague nonsense. Nothing but mindless chatter devoid and sucked of all its purpose. Armin was sure it had no purpose to begin with.
Dammit, why couldn’t he just fall asleep again? Why couldn’t they just stab him with another needle and let him succumb to an oblivious fate? His head was pounding as if it were a beating drum. His entire body was sore and he couldn’t think straight.
He lifted his head to see Mikasa at the opposite end of the cart, or was it Mikasa? All it appeared was a vague, shadowy figure.
Armin’s hand robotically reached out for it, his lips murmuring her name regardless if she were there or not.
“...Eh, I’ll take that as a ‘no’...”
He couldn’t remember much. Couldn’t recall the events that lead up to being there. Could only shut his eyes and let fate lure him into an empty state of blankness.
Like an ink black pen being dragged back and forth along blank paper, or sinking into the ocean, gulping in lungfuls of water -- drifting, drowning, yet with odd serenity.
He wondered if there would ever be an escape.
...
Armin gazed at his reflection past the ripples in the water. The first thing he saw were ghostly blue eyes staring back at him, deprived of the innocence they once had.
His hair had grown out since… however long it had been. Weeks, months, he’d lost track. Blond strands prickled at his cheeks and tickled at the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t grow much else besides a bit of scruff on his chin and above his lip.
It was pitiful, repulsive. Something so unlike him. So bizarre, yet so haunting and eerily familiar.
What he saw was a barely recognizable version of himself. A stranger. A cloak or a veil creased over something familiar. Something he once used to know.
The longer Armin gazed, the more the emotions stirred and swelled in his chest, threatening to boil over. He balled his fists, grinded his teeth, narrowed his eyes.
He couldn’t help but think, how did it come to this? Was there anything we could have changed? Could there have possibly been a different path?
They had no home. Nowhere to run. Nothing but people who only viewed them as monsters, inhuman, even if they could hardly tell the difference from one another.
They were one of the same.
If only they knew the truth.
...
He was running, cheap leather flats smacking the slick street below him. He had already slipped a few times, adrenaline pumping through his veins, eyes sharp and bugged with horror.
The men were right at his heels. Shadows, demons, spectres, whatever the hell they were. He just wanted to run, get away, disappear, anything.
Harsh streaks of furiouscious orange lit the street alive. He could feel himself spinning, tumbling to an abrupt halt. His fingertips grated against the slick pavement, but all he could see was fire.
It was blinding, hypnotizing.
What had happened? He was being chased a moment ago, wasn’t he?
Were they visions? If so, why? What was…
His dazed, copper tinted eyes rolled upwards, meeting a harsh silhouette that clashed the surrounding vibrance.
The first thing he saw was a red scarf, bound tight and knotted at the base of a metal scaffolding. There was a choking noise, gasping churned with desperate hacking. Were they the voices again?
His broken, tortured mind couldn’t handle putting the pieces together. The calamity struck him all at once, bashed and quaked over him like the debris of a fallen skyscraper.
Armin only felt his hands at the sides of his head. A piercing, horrible shriek tearing through his throat. He screamed, careless to all who heard, overcome by raw terror.
He felt hands scrabbling at his arms and shoulders, and reacted like a striking viper.
“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” His cries may as well have fallen on deaf ears. For much stronger and limber hands proceeded to grab his arms and pin them to his sides.
He felt a palm gently yet frantically slapping his cheek. And he blinked his eyes open to be greeted by telltale obsidian. He didn’t need to ask to know what happened.
Letting himself slump to the pavement, he covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
###
The Earth let out a shuddering quake.
A deafening wail resounded through the bleary orange sky. Wisps of blood red slithered across in weaves, like small trinkets tickling through the broad vicinity. A warning of the calamity that was bound to come.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
It was all that could be heard. Ringing, bouncing, ricocheting back and forth in Eren’s head.
He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in steady, calm breaths, letting the world around him melt away. All of the screaming, shrieks, howls being consumed by the pounding that wouldn’t stop.
Bodies stacking, piling up, until a mountain of corpses lay before his shut eyes. Waiting for them to unsheathe.
Sounds of horror all drowned out by the crashing waves of freedom. Couldn’t they understand what it meant? Why were they crying when they should be happy?
Eren opened his eyes to see a breathtakingly beautiful turquoise sky splattered with bright white clouds and birds and life. There were no walls, no war, no rules, no ground at his feet, only… freedom.
Eren felt his lips perk up at the sight, shock and wonder flooding his face like the heat of the golden sun. He spread his arms to the air, feeling no restrictions, no pain, no chains that had shackled his wrists for so long.
The realization lit his eyes like a match on gasoline. He laughed, tears engulfing his vision, hardly believing the amount of joy and fulfillment swelling in his chest.
“This is it,” Eren’s voice cracked, sounding much more youthful than he did mere moments ago, “Armin, we made it. We’re here.”
His faithful, naive gaze snapped to his best friend, expecting the same unyielding energy he had reflected since the day they’d met. But the boy he saw reflected none of it. Armin was reaching out for him desperately, panic consuming his voice, although Eren could not yet make out what he was saying.
Why was Armin fighting?
Didn't he understand what this meant?
Wasn’t this the world they wanted?
That was it, wasn’t it?
It was all just his own sick fantasy. Just false images to convince him that everything was alright. Crumbling under his fingertips like cracking glass.
No. This was the world I wanted.
His fantasy began to contort, vision going muddy and bright white clouds smearing into a dark polluted haze. Armin’s face distorted into further panic, growing older, eyes flashing with a terror Eren had never seen before.
He heard him call out his name one final time.
As the world rolled back into dark uncertainty once more, and a chord struck.
Eren opened his eyes.