Behind him, I stood frozen. Carla's death—her warmth, her smile, her sacrifice—was a scar etched into my soul. One that would never fade.
---
That same year, the central government made its grim decision: humanity would abandon all territories beyond Wall Rose.
The cost? Nearly ten thousand lives swallowed by Titans.
Now, we had taken shelter inside Wall Rose—Eren, Mikasa, and I. A ruined church was our refuge, cold and crumbling. We had no food. No water. Only a single tin of medicine left to my name, a gift from Grisha.
I pulled out one of the pills, letting what little saliva I could muster gather in my mouth. Swallowing it dry hurt like hell, but I did it. Grisha had made me promise. So I obeyed.
The medicine might last two more months. Maybe less. After that? I didn't know what would happen to me. Maybe nothing. Or maybe, as Grisha once warned, the disease would return with a vengeance.
Eren lay on the stone floor nearby, deep in sleep. The clang of the church bell stirred him. Mikasa, who had gone out to scout, returned just as I finished taking the pill.
Eren sat up slowly, rubbing his head, disoriented.
"I... I think I saw Dad," he murmured, pressing his fingers to his aching forehead. "It felt real."
"Impossible," Mikasa said without hesitation. "You must've been dreaming."
"Was I…?" Eren lowered his hand, his eyes landing on the pendant around his neck—Grisha's old necklace. A simple cord strung through a key. The one he always treated like a treasure.
"Hmm?" Eren reached into his pocket, pulling something out. A package wrapped in brown paper.
"What's this?" he muttered, unwrapping it slowly. Inside were pills. A lot of them.
I froze.
Those were… my pills. The same ones Grisha gave me. But why did Eren have so many?
"These are mine. Eren… when did you take them?" I asked, staring at him.
"I… I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe when I tried to save Mom?"
He tried to remember, but each attempt made him wince in pain.
"Well, I won't have to worry about running out anymore," I said gently, gathering the pills back into the paper. "Thank you, Eren."
These were the pills Grisha said could stop the illness from returning. I tucked them safely into the pocket of my coat.
Just then, Mikasa approached. "Come on. They're distributing food outside."
We left the church together.
The sunlight outside was as brilliant as ever. As if nothing had happened. As if the world wasn't falling apart.
The square was packed. Dozens—hundreds—of refugees gathered outside the storehouse. Mikasa led us through the crowd.
"They say this is the food depot. Everyone who escaped by boat was brought here," she explained.
Looking at the masses ahead, I couldn't help but wonder—was there really enough food to go around?
"Eren! Mikasa! Sandra!"
A familiar voice rang out. Armin.
He came running toward us, clutching several loaves of bread in his arms.
"Look! I got food! Grandpa said we had children at home, so he helped me grab these early," Armin beamed, handing each of us a loaf.
"Thank you," Mikasa and I said in unison. It meant more than he knew. Judging by the crowd, supplies wouldn't last long.
"Tch."
A voice interrupted. A passing garrison soldier glanced at us and scoffed, turning his head like we were filth beneath his boots.
"What was that about?" Eren muttered, frowning at the soldier's retreating figure.
Armin sighed. "Nothing we can do. Supplies are scarce. The further you lived from the inner walls, the more you're looked down on. Refugees like us… well, we're easy targets."
It was true. Those living within the inner walls walked with undeserved pride. Soldiers who'd never seen a Titan believed they were better. Safer. Smarter.
"Why should we give food to people from the outside anyway?" another soldier sneered nearby. "Titans already broke the wall. Wouldn't be a bad thing if they got eaten instead."
His disgusting words rang through us like ice water.
Eren's grip on the bread tightened. He marched forward, step by angry step.
"That kind of talk won't fix anything," the soldier muttered, spitting his twisted thoughts into the air.
Without a word, Eren kicked him.
"What the hell, brat?!" the soldier growled.
Another soldier grabbed Eren and threw him down.
"You don't know anything…" Eren growled, trembling. "You didn't see what I saw. You didn't watch them eat my mother…"
"Shut it!" The soldier moved to strike again.
"I'm sorry!" Armin cried out, rushing to cover Eren. "He's just hungry. That's all. Please don't blame him. It was rude, but… we're sorry."
Armin's voice was humble. Desperate. He bowed his head even as humiliation burned in his eyes.
Even when we were receiving help… fools who'd never seen a Titan talked like that? Like this was all some kind of joke?
"You should be grateful we haven't let you starve," the soldier said smugly, realizing others were watching. "Even children should show some gratitude."
"Yes, sir!" Armin forced a smile, still shielding Eren.
It was pathetic. But necessary.
The only reason we were alive—eating this bread—was because of others. Grisha. Carla. Eren. Hannes. Mikasa. Armin. Every step of my survival was thanks to someone.
Eren glared at the bread. "Damn it… I don't want their help."
We walked away, moving toward the far end of the square, where the crowd thinned.
"I'm going back," Eren muttered, sitting on the edge of the railing. "Back to Wall Maria. I'll kill every last one of them."
Another vow. Another fire.
"You can't be serious, Eren," Armin said.
"I am! I'm not like them—those cowards who hide behind the walls and act like they're better than us! I don't want any of this garbage!"
Eren shoved the bread back at Armin in frustration.
I looked on as the argument escalated.
"Eren! If you do that, you'll starve!" Armin cried.
"Better that than bowing my head and eating crumbs! We can't win if we stay like this!"
"We'll never beat the Titans! We can only survive behind these walls! If we go out there, we'll die! Just like my parents did!"
The wind picked up.
But the fire in Eren's eyes only burned hotter.
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