Peace was unfamiliar.
It settled over him slowly, like dust after a collapse—unnerving, undeserved. His breathing evened out. His shoulders loosened. For the first time since waking, his body did not feel like it was waiting for pain.
He stood there in the ruined room, listening to nothing.
No commands.No alarms.No footsteps coming to collect him.
The absence felt… gentle.
Then something snapped.
A sharp, splitting pain drove itself into his skull, sudden and merciless, as if a blade had been forced straight through his thoughts. His knees buckled. He staggered forward, fingers digging into the stone floor as his vision detonated into white.
He screamed.
The sound tore out of him—raw, unrestrained, animal. It echoed through the broken structure, bounced off cracked walls, startled birds somewhere outside. He clutched his head, nails biting into his scalp as if he could tear the pain out physically.
Memories crashed in.
Not his.
Someone else's.
Images flooded his mind in violent waves—too fast, too loud, too alive. A small room lit by warm sunlight. The smell of cooked food. A laugh that didn't carry threat.
And then—
A woman.
Her face was blurred, like a painting smeared by rain. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus on her features. But her hair—long, pale, strikingly similar to his own—stood out with impossible clarity.
She was kneeling.
Arms open.
Calling to him.
His breath hitched.
A strange pressure built behind his eyes, unfamiliar and frightening. His chest tightened painfully, not from injury, but from something he couldn't name. Before he understood what was happening, warmth spilled down his cheeks.
Tears.
He froze.
His hands trembled as he touched his face, fingers coming away wet. His breathing turned uneven, shallow, broken.
Why… am I crying?
More memories surged.
The woman pulling him close, her arms wrapping around him instinctively, shielding him from something unseen. Her body curved protectively, like she could block the entire world if she tried hard enough.
The sensation hit him deeper than pain ever had.
Safety.
The word surfaced uninvited.
His throat tightened. His vision blurred further, the room melting into indistinct shapes. Something inside his chest twisted violently, like a muscle that had never been used suddenly being torn awake.
This is… a mother.
The realization landed softly—and shattered him.
He had never had one.
Not in the facility. Not in the Authority. Not in any memory he owned. The concept had existed only as a definition, a word in a report, a biological role stripped of meaning.
And yet—
This body had known one.
The grief wasn't sharp. It was quiet. Heavy. It pressed down on him without explanation, without logic. Tears continued to fall, and he let them, because for once, there was no rule forbidding it.
Another memory tried to surface.
Clearer this time.
Danger. Shouting. The woman turning, eyes wide with fear—not for herself, but for him. Her arms tightening. Her body moving in front of his.
Protecting.
His head throbbed violently.
"No," he whispered hoarsely.
The memory resisted clarity, slipping away the harder he reached for it. His instincts—trained, conditioned—reacted immediately.
Unstable data.Potential threat.Discard.
He forced himself to pull back.
The memory dissolved, leaving behind only a dull ache and the lingering warmth of something he refused to analyze further.
He inhaled slowly.
Once.Twice.
Control returned.
With it came understanding.
These weren't hallucinations.
They were memories.
Not of his past life—but of this body's.
And with that realization came something else.
A name.
It surfaced quietly, without pain, settling into his mind like it had always belonged there.
He tasted it on his tongue.
Spoke it aloud.
"…Eren."