Chapter 1 — A World That Never Rests
The first thing you learn about this world is that it never truly sleeps.
Even when the lamps are dimmed and the barracks fall quiet, there is a tension in the air, like a breath held too long. Wood creaks. Wind presses against stone walls. Somewhere far beyond the city, something massive moves, and everyone knows it—even if they pretend not to.
You wake up on a cot that isn't yours.
The ceiling above you is unfamiliar: rough wooden beams instead of concrete, the faint smell of oil and iron instead of dust and electronics. Your body feels heavy, not injured, just… displaced, like it has been set down in the wrong place.
For a moment, you think you're dreaming.
Then you hear boots.
They stop just outside the door.
You sit up too quickly, dizziness washing over you, and grip the edge of the cot. The room is small and bare. A single table. A chair pushed neatly under it. A folded uniform resting on top, green fabric marked with the Wings of Freedom.
Your heart stutters.
"No," you whisper, though no one is there to hear it. "That's not possible."
The door opens.
A woman steps inside, clipboard tucked under her arm. She has sharp eyes and an expression that suggests she hasn't had a full night's sleep in years.
"You're awake," she says, like this is mildly inconvenient news.
You stare at her. She's real. Solid. Familiar in the way a character from a screen should never be.
Hange Zoë.
Your mouth opens. No sound comes out.
Hange tilts her head. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or a Titan. Same reaction, really."
You swallow. Your throat feels dry. "Where… where am I?"
Hange watches you carefully now, curiosity sharpening into assessment. "Scout headquarters. Medical wing. You were found unconscious just inside Wall Rose."
Your pulse pounds in your ears.
Wall Rose.
This isn't just any world. This is that world.
Attack on Titan.
"That's not possible," you say again, louder this time.
Hange smiles faintly. "People say that a lot here."
She steps closer, checking your pupils, your breathing, your hands. You flinch when her fingers brush your wrist—not because it hurts, but because the touch is real in a way your brain hasn't caught up to yet.
"You don't have any visible injuries," she continues. "No sign of Titan exposure. No gear. No papers. No memory loss, according to what you've told the guards, though that might change."
"I remember," you say quickly. Too quickly. "I remember everything."
Hange raises an eyebrow. "That so?"
You nod. You remember your world. Your room. Your screen glowing late into the night. The stories you read about this place—the pain, the blood, the inevitability of loss.
And now you're here.
Hange studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Great. Another mystery."
She scribbles something on her clipboard. "You'll be evaluated further. Until then, you'll remain under observation."
"Am I… a prisoner?" you ask quietly.
She considers it. "No," she says. "Not yet."
That doesn't help.
They give you a uniform that doesn't quite fit, sleeves a little too long, boots scuffed from someone else's use. You're escorted through corridors filled with people who move like they're always bracing for impact.
Soldiers.
You recognize them all. Faces you've watched suffer. Names you've cried over.
They don't know you.
And that hurts more than you expect.
In the mess hall, conversation drops when you enter. Not silence—just a shift. Curious glances. Cautious ones. You feel like a strange animal that wandered too close to camp.
You take a tray and sit at the end of a table, keeping your head down.
Across the room, a man with short blond hair laughs too loudly, trying to force lightness into the space. Connie. Beside him, Sasha eats with the intense focus of someone who never knows when her next meal will be.
You almost smile.
Almost.
Someone sits across from you without asking.
"You're the new one," Jean says, blunt as always.
You look up, startled. "I—yeah."
He eyes you. "You look… normal."
You huff out a weak laugh. "Is that bad?"
Jean shrugs. "In this place? Kinda."
Before you can respond, another presence settles beside him. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. A quiet gravity that seems to pull the room inward.
Mikasa Ackerman doesn't look at you directly, but you feel her awareness like a blade resting just out of sight.
"She's right," she says. "You don't seem dangerous."
You're not sure whether to be relieved or offended.
"I don't plan to be," you say.
That finally gets her attention. Her gaze flicks to you, assessing. Measuring.
"Hm," she murmurs.
No hostility. No warmth either.
Still, it feels like a victory.
Later, you're assigned light duties—helping in the infirmary, mostly. Carrying supplies. Cleaning. Staying out of the way.
You don't mind.
You notice things.
How a soldier's hands shake when they think no one is watching. How laughter comes easier around food. How exhaustion is worn like a second skin.
You don't tell them what you know. You don't warn them about the future or speak names of the dead.
You just… help.
When a young recruit can't sleep, you sit nearby and talk about nothing. When someone forgets to eat, you slide a plate their way without comment. When Hange forgets to rest, you remind her—gently—that even curiosity needs fuel.
"Since when did you become the responsible one?" she laughs.
You smile. "Someone has to."
Word spreads quietly.
Not that you're special. Not that you're strong.
Just that you're kind.
You meet him at night.
The corridor is dim, lantern light throwing long shadows. You're carrying clean bandages when you nearly collide with a wall of black and gray.
"Watch where you're going," a low voice says.
You freeze.
Levi Ackerman stands before you, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Up close, he looks even more tired than the stories ever captured. Dark circles under sharp eyes. A tension in his posture that never fully relaxes.
"I'm sorry," you say immediately, stepping back. "I wasn't paying attention."
He studies you. Silent. Evaluating.
"You're the stray," he says at last.
The word stings—but not cruelly. Just factual.
"I guess so," you reply.
"Hm."
You expect him to dismiss you.
Instead, his gaze drops to the bandages in your arms. "Infirmary duty?"
"Yes."
"Don't linger in hallways at night," he says. "It gets dangerous."
You nod. "Thank you."
You take a step to pass him, then hesitate.
"Captain," you say softly.
He pauses.
"…You should sleep more."
For a moment, you think you've overstepped.
Then Levi exhales, slow and quiet. "That's not your concern."
"No," you agree. "But I still said it."
His eyes flick back to you. There's something there—not anger. Not annoyance.
Surprise.
"…Tch," he mutters. "Get back to work."
You walk away, heart racing.
Behind you, Levi watches until you turn the corner.
That night, you lie awake on your borrowed cot, listening to the world breathe.
You don't know how long you're meant to be here. You don't know if you can change anything big.
But maybe that's not the point.
Maybe you weren't sent here to fight Titans.
Maybe you were sent here to remind them they're human.
And for the first time since you arrived, the world feels just a little less heavy.