THE STORY CONTINUES.
Chapter — Under the Endless Moon
The moon never moved.
It simply watched.
Silver light spilled across the concrete ruins of the city like a wound that refused to close. Buildings stood tall but hollow, windows dark, streets abandoned. Cars rusted where they had been left decades ago, their metal skins eaten slowly by time and moonlight.
Armin stood near the edge of the mountain base, arms folded, breath steady.
This world smelled different.
No mana in the air—yet something heavier lingered. Fear soaked into stone.
Desperation clung to walls. Survival wasn't a choice here. It was routine.
Footsteps approached.
Nine of them.
Armin didn't turn.
"Hey," a voice called out. Young. Cautious. Friendly on the surface—but sharp underneath.
"You're new."
Armin glanced back.
Nine boys. Late teens to early twenties. Modern clothes—hoodies, jackets, worn sneakers. Some carried metal pipes. One had a folding knife clipped to his belt. Their eyes weren't innocent.
They were alert.
The one who spoke stepped forward. Tall, brown hair, sharp jaw.
"Name's John. This is our sector."
Another boy snorted. "You don't look like a scavenger."
Armin noticed the way they studied his arms. The scars. The muscle memory in his posture. The way he stood balanced even while relaxed.
A third boy—shorter, glasses cracked—whispered, "He's not normal."
Armin smiled faintly. "Neither are you."
That was enough.
They moved fast.
Too fast for normal kids.
A pipe swung for his ribs. Armin stepped inside the arc and chopped down with his elbow—controlled. The boy folded instantly, gasping.
"WHAT—"
Another rushed him. Armin grabbed his wrist, twisted, disarmed him, and shoved him into the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.
Chaos followed.
Nine became noise.
Armin didn't draw blood. He didn't need to.
Every movement was efficient. Brutal. Precise. He swept legs, slammed shoulders, locked joints. In less than a minute, bodies littered the storage chamber floor, groaning, coughing, shaking.
He stood in the center.
Breathing calm.
Silence swallowed the room.
Then someone broke.
A boy with curly blond hair—George—started laughing. Not happy laughter. Broken laughter.
"We thought… we thought you were like them."
Armin crouched. "Like who?"
George wiped his eyes with shaking hands. "People who survive by throwing others away."
Another boy—Lucas, dark-skinned, fists clenched—snapped, "We didn't attack you to steal."
A pause.
Then—
"We attacked because we were scared."
The words cracked something.
They talked.
One by one.
Ethan lost his mother during a full moon when she tripped running for the passage.
Mark watched his father volunteer as bait so the others could escape.
Noah grew up believing the moon was a god that demanded sacrifices.
Ryan never knew daylight.
Alex remembered stories from his grandmother—of a time when people lived without hiding.
No one knew how it started.
No one knew why it never ended.
Their grandparents had lived like this. Their parents too. And now them.
When the last story ended, the room felt smaller.
Heavier.
They looked at Armin—not as an enemy now.
But as something else.
"Train us," John said quietly.
Armin hesitated.
Training people meant attachment.
Attachment meant loss.
He remembered Leon. Elena. Frozen faces beneath a rising sun.
"…You won't survive by learning how to fight," Armin said.
"We know," Lucas replied. "But we don't want to die running anymore."
That did it.
Armin stood. "Night training only. No weapons. No promises."
They nodded instantly.
Training Night
The moon hung low as they gathered in an open concrete yard shielded by broken walls.
Armin tossed aside his coat.
"First rule," he said. "You don't fight monsters."
They exchanged confused looks.
"You fight panic."
He made them run.
Not laps.
Stairs. Rubble. Uneven ground.
When legs burned and lungs screamed, he made them stop suddenly.
"Breathe," he ordered. "Slow. Control it."
He shoved George unexpectedly.
George stumbled—but didn't fall.
"Good," Armin said. "You're learning balance."
They practiced movement. Footwork. Awareness.
No fancy techniques.
"How to fall without breaking your neck."
"How to get up when your hands are shaking."
"How to drag someone heavier than you."
Sweat soaked clothes. Muscles trembled.
Ryan collapsed, gasping. "Why are you doing this?"
Armin looked at the moon.
"Because monsters wait for mistakes," he said softly. "And people make plenty."
Near dawn—though dawn never came—they sat on the cold ground, exhausted.
John spoke quietly. "You've seen worse than this world."
Armin didn't answer.
The bell rang in the distance.
Everyone stiffened.
Armin stood.
"Tomorrow night," he said. "We continue."
As they limped back inside, something stirred in the shadows.
Not watching the boys.
Watching him.
The moon reflected faintly in Armin's eyes.
And for the first time since arriving—
This world noticed him back.
TO BE CONTINUED.