Chapter XXIX: Everything's Different Now
Pain came first.
Anja's eyes cracked open to a sky she barely recognized—the sun a dim blur through thick smoke. Her ribs stabbed with each breath, her body a solid mass of bruises. The world seemed somehow askew, as if reality itself had shifted while she slept.
She blinked hard, trying to orient herself. The rough bark against her back, the gentle sway beneath her—it took her an unsettling moment to register that she was in a tree. That should have been obvious. Why wasn't it obvious?
When she tried to sit up, pain lanced through her torso, white-hot, leaving her gasping. Her shirt hung in tatters, stiff with dried blood, but someone had bandaged her worst wounds with torn strips of green fabric. A cloak? Her hands traced the makeshift bandages with unsteady fingers, unable to remember applying them herself. Had she done this herself? The thought sent a chill through her. If she had, she didn't remember.
What did she remember?
The expedition. Heading east through titan territory. Then—fire. Smoke. Screaming. Blood.
A wet, gurgling sound that made bile rise in her throat.
She gasped, choking on nothing. The memory slid away like oil over water, leaving only a sick, hollow feeling behind.
Below, the Forest of Giant Trees stretched out in ruin: burned stumps still smoking, the air heavy with the stench of charred flesh. Not wood. Flesh. A smell she recognized with disturbing familiarity.
A small pack lay beside her, stocked with water and rations. Her ODM gear remained strapped to her, beaten but not broken. The gas level was low. Maybe enough to reach the ground.
Something shifted nearby.
"You're awake."
Anja jerked backward, nearly losing her balance. Pain exploded through her side,as a scream died in her throat, becoming a ragged wheeze. The world tilted and spun, shadows crawling at the edges of her vision.
When her vision cleared, Heinrik perched on a nearby branch.
"No!" The rejection burst from her before conscious thought. Pure instinct, born of absolute certainty that something was wrong about his presence.
Her fingers dug into the bark, splinters biting deep. He looked real. Too real. He wasn't supposed to look like that. Usually, she could see through him, his body half-there, flickering in and out like mist. But now… solid. Too solid.
"Stay back," she rasped, the words scraping her throat.
Heinrik remained still, a flicker of something crossing his face—not anger, not fear. Something quieter, almost like hurt.
"I don't..." His brow furrowed. "I don't remember enough to prove it's me."
As if responding to her doubt, his form wavered—chest turning transparent for a heartbeat before solidifying again.
"But if I was that thing," he said, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."
That thing?
—A void, infinite and cold. Her mother's voice, wrong somehow, twisted. Her face ill-fitting, like a mask worn by someone who didn't understand how faces worked. Then Heinrik, similarly distorted.
Something about his current uncertainty felt genuine, though. The entity had been confident, precise in its cruelty. This Heinrik looked as lost as she felt.
"How did I get here?"
He hesitated, eyes darting to the burned forest below. "We need to move."
A sharp pulse of irritation flared through her. "No. Did you bring me here? Answer me."
His hands curled into fists. "I would tell you if I could."
The quiet frustration in his voice startled her. Heinrik was never frustrated, never uncertain. Yet his gaze kept searching the ashes below, vigilant for something unseen.
"Do you remember when it took you?" he asked softly. "It led you there."
Another memory surfaced—moving at full speed through the forest, chasing a distant figure. Then... entering a pale titan's mouth willingly, nothing but the void of its maw before her. The memory was too vivid, too senseless to be fabricated.
"I know it," he muttered, more to himself than her. "That place. I managed to get you out."
Her stomach twisted. "What place?"
—Pale titans, a dozen of them, suddenly turning on each other, tearing one another apart. The titan where she was imprisoned tore open its own belly, her unconscious body dropping from its bowels to the forest floor. She coughing that black liquid as she awakened, tasting rot and sweetness.
Revulsion swept through her as the memory solidified.
"I was a prisoner to it too," Heinrik said, his voice hollow. "I was there for so long it's all I can remember. That void where it took you."
Anja clutched her head, suddenly aware of her hands—cut and filled with dried blood even under her fingernails. They didn't look right, as if they belonged to someone else.
"This can't be real," she whispered. "None of this is... You are not real! I'm going insane..."
"It's what I thought too," Heinrik said, his voice barely audible. "Stuck in that never-ending nightmare, I had forgotten who I was. Even now my..." He trailed off, frustration and fear crossing his face as he struggled for words. "My memories... I've forgotten most of them. I don't remember much beyond that void, not even who I was, until I heard your voice."
He took a tentative step closer. Anja pressed her back against the tree trunk, having nowhere else to retreat.
"You think I am not him... Is that it?" His eyes searched hers. "I don't know what that thing did to me, Anja, all I know is that I once made a promise to you. When I found you, pieces started coming back." He swallowed hard. "I promised I'd protect you, that I'd always come back to you..."
Tears traced hot paths down Anja's blood-smeared cheeks. "You never came back! You are dead..." The words felt true, a certainty amid confusion. "They told me..."
He had gotten closer now, not threatening, but near enough that she could see the subtle shifts in his form—solid one moment, translucent the next.
"It's not your fault," he said gently. "I had no control before, but you helped me escape. Don't you remember?"
Heinrik's form flickered again, like a reflection in troubled water. He opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands trembled visibly now.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"But we haven't freed ourselves from it yet," he continued, voice tight. "It used me to get to you. In my eagerness to find you, I never realized I took it with me..."
"And unlike me... It's out there... Following you. That's why you can't stay here."
The rational part of her mind asserted itself despite her fear. Regardless of whether she believed him, she couldn't stay here. And Heinrik's demeanor didn't lie—he was genuinely afraid.
She forced herself to move, testing her gear. Every motion sent fire through her ribs, but she clenched her jaw and pushed through it.
She anchored her cables to the trunk. "How do you know it's following us?"
He let out a slow breath. "I just do."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
She bit back a curse and began her descent, each movement a negotiation with pain. The cables hummed as they bore her weight, the familiar sound wrong, like an instrument played out of tune.
"That thing," she muttered between controlled breaths, "It said I belonged with it. That I belonged to that place."
A silence stretched between them. Too long. Too heavy.
Heinrik's form flickered violently. "Then it wants for you the same it wanted for me." His voice sounded different now—frayed, stretched thin. "I can feel it pulling me back there still. I can't..." His words came faster now, unsteady. "I won't go back. You can't let it take you there again."
Her hands were slick with sweat, making her grip treacherous. She had to focus, had to maintain control of her descent. With each meter closer to the ground, the air grew thicker with ash and the stench of death. Her lungs burned. Her eyes watered. But she couldn't stop now.
The branch above her creaked and shuddered. A warning.
She released the cables and dropped the final few meters. Her boots hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of ash. The impact rattled through her bones, but a deeper ache gnawed at her—a hollow feeling that had nothing to do with her injuries.
Something caught her eye— hanging from a low twig was a scout cloak, half-burnt, cinders still clinging to the fabric like dying fireflies. Recognition slammed into her. She wasn't alone. There were others. Why weren't they here? She had been with Petra, with Armin, Reiner. Then she remembered seeing Eren, in the forest, his face contorted in—
She turned, scanning the wasteland. "The others." Her voice cracked. "Petra, Armin, Eren—everyone. They have to be out here."
"Anja..." Heinrik's expression darkened. "There's no one left to find."
Something about the way he said it made her stomach drop.
His voice was too quiet. Too certain.
"You're lying."
He wouldn't meet her eyes.
Panic clawed up her throat. The memories still wouldn't settle, shifting like sand through her fingers. Why couldn't she remember? Why did it feel like something was pressing against her mind, forcing her to forget?
"What aren't you telling me?" she demanded.
Heinrik's form wavered again, his edges dissolving into the smoke. "Some things are better left buried."
She shook her head. "Please, I need to know—"
"Anja." His voice was barely there. "You don't want to remember."
But she was already moving, calling out names that echoed back unanswered. Behind her, Heinrik flickered like a dying flame, growing dimmer with each step she took.
***
The world had been reduced to piles of ash, cinder and smoke.
Anja moved through the ruined forest, each step sending up small clouds of gray dust that clung to her blood-stained clothes and skin. The boots she wore—were they even hers? Sank slightly with each step, the ground still warm beneath her soles. In the distance, embers glowed like dying stars, the fire still consuming what little remained.
Heinrik followed silently, his form occasionally wavering, always watching with that same uncertain expression.
The devastation was absolute. Centuries-old trees stood as blackened pillars or lay collapsed across her path, forming barriers she had to climb over, each movement sending fresh pain through her injured body. The smell overwhelmed her senses—charred wood mixed with something far worse, an acrid sickly-sweet stench that made her throat constrict. She knew that smell from Trost and before? Burnt human flesh.
Through gaps in the thick smoke, she glimpsed titans in the distance. Normal ones—seven, ten, fifteen-meter classes—standing or sitting motionless among the destruction, their bodies covered in ash, faces blank and uncomprehending. They showed no interest in her.
"I told you," Heinrik said quietly from somewhere behind her. "You won't find anyone here."
Anja ignored him, pushing forward. The path beneath her feet had started to take shape, stone pavers emerging where ash had blown away. Strange how her feet seemed to know this route, even as her mind struggled to recall why she was following it. A thin trail of blood marked her passage, dripping from reopened wounds.
Something pulled her forward—not just Heinrik's insistent presence, but a need to know. To remember.
Her foot caught on something hidden beneath the ash—metal that gave off a dull, muted sound. Crouching, she brushed away the gray powder to reveal a twisted cable with a warped hook.
The trap...
The Female Titan immobilized by dozens of steel cables, arms and legs secured at multiple points.. Captain Levi perched atop her head. They had captured the monster who had killed so many of their comrades.
But then—
The ground shaking. Pale forms emerging, their bodies wrong. Scouts and horses scattering in fear.
Anja's hand trembled as she touched the twisted metal, memories returning not in sequence but in pieces. She passed by the holes they'd left in the earth, half-filled with ash but still visible. Like wounds in the forest floor, each crater marked where one of those things had burst from.
She stood, continuing through the wasteland. With each step, her breaths grew more ragged, not just from exertion but from the pressure building in her mind. She remembered the fire now—how it had spread through the forest, scouts fleeing in all directions, many cut down by titans before they could escape. The Female Titan still trapped at the center of it all, struggling against her restraints as flames licked at her raw skin.
But she'd chased something, someone?
Her foot struck another object buried in the ash. Something larger, more solid than the cable. She knelt, hands sweeping the loose layer of ash aside, revealing dark fabric beneath—she could make out what remained of the wings of freedom, what remained of a cloak, still attached to its owner.
Anja's breath caught in her throat as she uncovered more. The body lay facedown, charred, parts of the jacket fused with scorched skin. With trembling hands, she turned the corpse over.
The face was half-burnt, features distorted by fire, but enough remained to recognize Gunther. His uniform was blackened and brittle, but through the damage, she could see a gaping hole in his chest—a wound that matched nothing a titan would inflict. Not a bite mark, not a crushing injury.
A puncture wound.
The sight triggered a memory that hit her with such physical force that she stumbled backward:
Annie, defenseless in the nape of her titan, eyes wide and fixed on Anja. Gunther standing over her, blade plunging toward Annie's chest.
Crimson filling Anja's vision. Her body moving without thought or hesitation, covering the distance in an eyeblink. The resistance of his body giving way beneath her fingers. The warm rush of blood over her arm. His eyes, wide, barely comprehending what had struck him. The sound he made—not quite a word, not quite a scream.
The ash beneath her hands felt suddenly hot. She scrambled away from Gunther's body, leaving long tracks in the gray powder.
"No," she gasped. "No, no, no..."
But the floodgates had opened. More memories crashed through:
Oluo's cry as Gunther fell. His blade cutting into her shoulder. The odd sensation of feeling the wound but not the pain. Grabbing his arm before he could strike again, squeezing until bone splintered beneath her grip. His sword clattering to the forest floor as he screamed.
Petra charging forward, a blade piercing Anja's stomach. The sound of Oluo's body hitting a tree as she tossed him aside. Petra's eyes widening as Anja pulled the blade from her own body, blood spraying across the ground between them.
The relentless attack that followed. Petra's perfect defense crumbling under the onslaught, each wound slowing her movements until Anja severed her hand at the wrist. Petra backing against a tree trunk, clutching her bleeding stump, amber eyes wide with terror.
Oluo, somehow still alive, lunging from behind with a knife that plunged between Anja's ribs.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
"Traitor!"
A hot coal of pain throbbed in her side, where those stab wounds would have been. She pressed her hand there, feeling the tacky blood still seeping from her injuries.
Oluo beneath her. The weight of her body pinning him down. Her hands breaking him piece by piece. The strange ecstasy as her teeth found his throat, tearing flesh from bone. Black liquid seeping from her mouth into his wounds. His body spasming, then stilling.
Anja retched, doubling over as her empty stomach heaved. Nothing came up but thin bile that burned her throat. The forest floor beneath her rippled and swam as tears blurred her vision.
The sound of metal scraping against the ground. Stopping her feast.
Annie. Standing next to her steaming titan, clutching a fallen blade. Burn marks seared under her eyes, steam curling from her body's wounds. Her blue eyes locked onto her.
Anja..."
Something shifting inside of her at the sound of her voice. The blood filled vision receding, leaving only pain and confusion. Her body, suddenly aware of its wounds, faltering. Falling.
"What have I done?"
"I killed them," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I killed them all."
"You did," Heinrik confirmed, his voice devoid of judgment.
"She was the Female Titan!" Anja cried, raising her now ash-covered face. "Why would I—"
"Because you knew," Heinrik said simply. "Some part of you understood what they'd do to her."
Anja shook her head violently, sending ash flying from her hair. "No..." But she knew it was true. Even so, it brought no comfort. Annie had fought them. Had killed so many to reach Eren. What reason could possibly justify that?
Had she protected a killer? A friend? An enemy? Or all at once?
The wind carried ash across the forest floor, erasing her footprints as quickly as she made them. Around her, the forest groaned, damaged trees creaking as if still in pain from the inferno that had consumed them.
And what of her? A murderer. A freak. A danger to anything she touched.
She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. "It was right about me," she whispered. "I'm a monster."
She thought of the void, that cold emptiness that had imprisoned Heinrik. "If I let it take me there..." Her voice trailed off. Maybe that was where she belonged—locked away where she couldn't hurt anyone else.
"You cannot believe what it says," Heinrik said sharply, his form solidifying as he stepped closer.
She wasn't convinced. The thing had felt beyond human deception. Could something like that even understand what lying was?
"It will say anything, make you believe anything just to get to you," Heinrik insisted. "It said you were a monster? Monsters don't feel sadness or regret. It is one, you are not. Surrendering to it won't make your actions go away." His voice was steady, calm. Not accusing. Not judging. "You're still here. You still have a choice."
Anja stared at the ash covering her hands. "To do what?" she whispered.
"That's for you to decide."
She swallowed hard. Her mind felt fractured, tangled in too many thoughts. She had killed her own comrades—there was no justification for that.
"I should turn myself in," she whispered, barely audible over the creaking of charred wood. "Tell them what I did."
"And what will that accomplish?" Heinrik asked.
"Justice," she said, the word hollow even to her own ears.
"Justice," he echoed. "Or punishment? There's a difference."
Anja stared at Gunther's charred body, guilt weighing on her like a physical presence. But a question scratched at her mind:
Why?
Why had Annie done it? She had been willing to sacrifice everything... To find Eren? What purpose could possibly be worth all this death?
The question grew, pushing against her self-loathing, demanding attention. Annie wasn't one to act without reason.
And if she was after Eren, then it was only a matter of time before she made another move. And the Scouts whether they knew who she was or not—wouldn't stop either. They had already tried to capture her and kill her once. Sooner or later, they would clash again.
No matter what happened, more people would die. More friends. More innocents.
"Maybe I'm the only one she'd explain herself to," Anja said quietly. "She didn't try to kill me when she had the chance." The realization struck her with sudden force. Annie had every opportunity to finish her when she collapsed, yet here she was, alive. Had Annie helped her somehow?
She looked westward, any remaining Scouts would have returned to Karanes. Maybe Annie followed too? A thin line of smoke marked its position on the horizon.
Heinrik followed her gaze. "I don't like it," he said, "but it's better than staying here." He glanced at the scorched landscape. "At least the fire did you one service—there's nothing left to show what happened. Nothing anyone could recognize."
The words made her stomach turn. Was this what she'd become? Someone who should be grateful that evidence of her crimes had been destroyed? But a part of her understood. If no one knew what she'd done, she could still help. Still try to make things right.
The conflict twisted inside her—she knew she'd have to atone eventually, face judgment for what she'd done. But if finding Annie meant preventing more pointless death, she'd endure the weight of her guilt a while longer.
She had to find Annie. Before anyone else did.
***
Sunset bled across the sky over Karanes District, painting the outlines of the wall in shades of amber and crimson. Armin leaned against the cold stone, watching most of the surviving Scouts pass through the inner gate, faces drawn and shoulders slumped. Some limped, others were carried.
So few had returned. Far too few.
Armin's fingers tightened around the strap of his gear. This wasn't just a failed expedition—it was a catastrophe. The kind that ended careers.
"They'll use this," he murmured, watching a group of civilians gather, their faces cycling between pity, anger, and that ever-present fear. "The Military Police have been waiting for something like this."
Every death would be counted, every resource scrutinized against results that amounted to nothing but questions and death.
He glanced toward the small medical outpost where Eren was being kept. Mikasa hadn't left his side since they'd returned. She stood sentinel outside, always so calm. Armin knew her well enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface—fear for Eren, fury at those who had put him in danger, and a cold determination to prevent it from happening again.
Commander Erwin had allowed them to stay behind rather than forcing them back to headquarters with the others. A small mercy, given what awaited them—interrogations, blame, and almost certainly renewed demands to hand Eren over.
But Armin couldn't leave yet.
His fingers tightened on the worn leather strap of his gear, the material creaking softly. The weight of it pressed against his bruised hip as he pushed himself away from the wall, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. Out in the field, survival had kept it all down. The adrenaline had faded, leaving every muscle aching.
He'd already given his report to Commander Erwin—the Female Titan's intelligence, its intent. His suspicion: it was human, like Eren. Maybe that was why the Comnander had confided in him. Or maybe he had no better option.
The leader of the Scouts hadn't been surprised. No one could have predicted this, but all planned based on their own assumptions, didn't they?
Armin hoped his were wrong. That something could still be salvaged.
But the Commander wasn't the type to give up easy. Armin understood that sacrifices had to be made. But could he ever make that choice himself?
His feet carried him past the empty storage building. For the greater good? For someone else? How far would he go?
The wind shifted, carrying the distant smell of smoke. Armin's boots scraped against the cobblestones as he walked toward the cluster of officers near the gate. Captain Levi sat apart from the others on a wooden crate, his face impassive as a medic finished changing the bandages on his leg.
Armin hesitated, then approached. "Sir."
Levi glanced up, eyes flat and unreadable. "Arlert."
"How are you holding up?" The question felt inadequate, but Armin couldn't find better words.
Levi's mouth twitched, almost a grimace. "I've had worse."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant voices of soldiers loading the dead onto carts, their movements methodical, weary. Sheets rustled as bodies were covered, the heavy thud of boots against the dirt punctuating the grim task. Armin's fingers worked against the leather strap, a nervous gesture he couldn't quite suppress.
"What will happen to Eren? To the Scouts?" The question emerged softer than he intended.
Levi's gaze sharpened, something flickering behind his usual detachment. "The way things are looking, they'll probably dissect the brat." He paused, eyes flicking toward the medical outpost before returning to Armin. "As for us, can't say it's looking good either."
"But he didn't harm anyone. And we've made significant discoveries." Armin's hand instinctively moved toward his pocket, where he'd stored his notes about the expedition. "Those titans you faced—Section Commander Hange brought back samples, didn't she?"
A torch flared nearby, casting Levi's face in stark relief. Though his expression remained controlled, Armin noticed the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
"It's not enough," Levi said, voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the nearby soldiers. "We haven't confirmed the Female Titan's identity, nor what those things are. Without concrete evidence, the Military Police will dismiss it all as secondary to our failure."
His gaze drifted toward the medical quarters, where moans occasionally punctuated the evening air. "Humanity's supposed weapon hasn't proven indispensable yet. They'll play dirty—pin everything on Eren and Erwin while they are at it."
Levi looked down briefly, then toward Mikasa's distant figure outside the outpost. She was clutching her scarf tightly, her posture rigid. Something in Levi's expression shifted. "I did my part. Many gave their lives protecting him. Don't forget that." The words held no accusation, only finality. "Now the responsibility falls to you and her."
Levi's eyes flicked to the cart of bodies as it began to leave, the horses pulling it slowly. His gaze lingered, a quiet solemnity in his eyes.
Armin felt a weight settle in his chest. The taste of ash lingered on his tongue—whether from the distant forest or his own fear, he couldn't tell.
"Are you alright..." he began carefully, "after losing them?"
The question hung in the cooling air. Levi's eyes drifted toward the horizon, where smoke still rose from the distant forest, like a dark banner against the darkening sky. The wind tugged at his cloak, exposing the worn edges where the fabric had frayed.
"Every Scout goes through it," Levi said, his voice flat, with no emotion to soften it. "You either find a reason to keep going, or you break."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before Armin could place it. "The dead don't carry those burdens."
Armin nodded, his eyes fixed on the cart as it slowly passed through the gates, the weight of the bodies carried within a silent reminder of the cost. The horses' hooves struck the ground softly,
"We keep fighting for them." he said quietly.
"Yeah..." Levi's gaze softened just a fraction as he watched the survivors being treated in the medical quarters. "For them, and those who still live."
His voice dropped lower. "You'll learn that the answer isn't always clear. Choosing is easy. Living with the consequences—the people you lose, the sacrifices you make—that's the hard part. In the end, it's not about the choice. It's being able to live with it, without regret."
The words settled in Armin's chest like stones. His fingers stilled on the strap, a decision crystallizing in his mind. "I'll stand watch on the eastern wall tonight," he said, unconsciously straightening his posture despite his exhaustion.
"Go ahead." Levi nodded, pressing a hand against his bandaged leg as he adjusted his position. "It's protocol to have someone watch, anyway. But no one ever comes back after something like this." He offered no false comfort.
As Armin turned to leave, Levi's voice stopped him.
"Arlert. Just so you know, tomorrow we'll have to hand Eren over. There'll be another trial." His tone held no uncertainty about the expected outcome. "Unless we come up with something concrete, there'll be little we can do."
"I understand, sir." A muscle in Armin's jaw tightened, though his expression remained neutral.
"It's a waste of time in my opinion, but what else is there to do?" Levi shifted his weight onto his good leg. "I'll have someone on standby." Without another word, he turned and limped away.
Armin gave a slight nod, more to himself than anyone else, as the implications settled in. He turned toward the eastern wall, his steps steady but his thoughts anything but. Night was settling over Karanes, torches and lanterns casting pools of light between deepening shadows. From atop the wall, he watched the streets below before lifting his gaze outward. Beyond the gate, the abandoned town was barely visible in the darkness, though he could make out the lumbering shapes of titans still wandering aimlessly.
The night air carried a chill that seeped through his uniform, but he barely noticed. His mind kept returning to Levi's words. A few hooded figures moved between buildings below, citizens or perhaps soldiers seeking shelter from the growing cold.
His gaze drifted to the few titans lingering outside the walls, their forms mere silhouettes against the starlit sky. The reports of pale titans filled him with dread—intelligent, coordinated. Were titans changing? Was there a human behind them, just like the Female Titan—a person manipulating them, using them as weapons?
The thought made him shudder. How long could the walls keep them safe if humans were involved? Enemies from within and without.
Survival seemed impossible with those things roaming free. But if what the Commander had said about Anja was true—that titans had trouble seeing her—then maybe there was a chance.
He had to believe she'd come back.
"Where are you, Anja?" he whispered, his voice swallowed by the night, carrying his conflicted heart away into the darkness.
***
The wall of Karanes loomed ahead, a dark silhouette cutting across the star-strewn sky. Anja halted at the town's edge, her scavenged gear and canister awkwardly fastened over the ruined framework beneath. She'd taken it from a fallen Scout whose face she couldn't bear to look at.
"Do you really plan to go back to them?" Heinrik asked.
Anja stared at the wall. No torches marked the battlements, only a few distant lights marking the gates. No guards paced the walls, no warning bells rang out - as if the military had already accepted there would be no one to return.
"My friends are there," she said, glancing back at him.
"It feels wrong," Heinrik said softly, his form wavering like mist. "Too silent."
"Maybe they've given up on survivors..."
The words died in her throat as fragments of memory threatened to surface. The smell of ash and burning flesh. The sound of-
"You don't have to do this," Heinrik interrupted, as if sensing where her thoughts were leading. His outline flickered, growing fainter. "You can bypass the distric."
"No." The word came out harder than she intended. "There's no chance I'll find Annie on my own... I need to know why she did it. Why I..." Her hands trembled on the triggers. "I can stop this."
Heinrik gave a tired, breathless chuckle, but it lacked its usual warmth. "Always stubborn."
His voice was thinner than before. Anja had noticed it for a while now—his steps had grown lighter, his figure dimmer, as if the world itself was forgetting him. She had tried not to look too closely, afraid of what she might see. But now, standing still beneath the moonlight, there was no ignoring it. His skin had lost its depth, the edges of his form blurring like mist in the cold air.
Her chest tightened. "Heinrik?"
He swayed. A grimace crossed his face. "I can feel it coming back," His outline wavered, breaking apart in places before struggling back together.
"Hold on." Anja checked her gear's gas levels - enough for a few attempts. "We're almost there."
"It won't matter..." His form flickered violently, pieces of him fading.
"Listen," he said urgently. "When I'm gone, it will come. It will wear my face. It will say things—terrible things. But you can't listen to it." His voice trembled, words fraying at the edges. "No matter what it says, you have to keep going. You'll be safer inside the walls. Be careful."
She reached for him, but her fingers passed through empty air.
And then he was gone.
The night pressed in, she hadn't realized how quiet it was, how empty. Anja swallowed against the hollow feeling in her chest.
She clenched her jaw. Keep going.
Her fingers found the trigger of the gear. A sharp hiss of gas filled the silence, and the anchors fired, yanking her upward. As she ascended through the darkness, a chill prickled the back of her neck—the sensation of being watched. Hunted.
The top of the wall came into sight, her final anchor catching solidly as she reeled herself in. Almost there. But as she neared the edge, her scavenged gear, ill strapped, shifted awkwardly to the side after the pull, throwing off her balance.
Her stomach lurched. The world tilted.
The next thing she knew, she was dangling just below the wall's edge, her grip slipping against the worn handles of the gear.
"Grab on!"
A hand shot out over the wall. Her heart lurched. Armin!
She barely had time to react before his fingers locked around her wrist, steady and unyielding. With a sharp tug, he pulled her up, the cold stone scraping against her arms as she dragged herself over the edge.
They collapsed onto the wall's surface, both breathing heavily from the exertion. Anja's ribs screamed in protest as she tried to sit up, the framework's broken pieces shifting beneath her skin.
Moonlight caught on his blond hair, the same gentle slope of his shoulders she'd recognize anywhere.
"Armin… I'm glad you're okay." The name escaped her lips before she could stop it. Relief flooded through her veins, warm and dizzying.
He smiled. "I knew you'd come back," Genuine relief breaking through his usual measured tone. "When I saw the smoke rising from the forest, I..." He trailed off, studying her face in the moonlight. His eyes widened slightly at her condition - the blood-crusted rags she wore, pieces of the framework still embedded in her flesh.
She tried to stand but stumbled, her legs buckling. In an instant, he was at her side, arms wrapping around her shoulders, steadying her.
"The others," she gasped, clutching his arm. The fabric of his sleeve felt impossibly real beneath her fingers. "Did everyone else make it back?"
Something passed across his face, gone too quickly to decipher. "The right flank was nearly wiped out. Many couldn't keep up when we retreated." His voice dropped lower. "We lost so many people out there..." The realization settled like a stone in her chest. "That's why I'm by myself here… No one expected survivors."
The wind carried a whisper across the battlements. For a moment, she thought she heard Heinrik's voice, a fragmented warning that dissipated before she could grasp it.
"What about Eren and Mikasa?"
"Both alive," Armin replied, his voice measured. "Eren was injured. Mikasa is looking after him."
"That's a relief," she said softly. "After Trost... I had no way of reaching any of you. They kept me isolated."
"I wondered where you'd been." Something flickered across his face. "But, that doesn't matter now, let's get you somewhere warm," Armin said, eyes lingering on her wounds. "Those need attention."
"No!" She exhaled, steadying herself. "No," softer this time. "Just some bandages. And..." She glanced around the battlements. "I need to talk to you. Somewhere private."
Armin's brows furrowed, but he nodded. "Sure, there's a storage building near the wall. Should have something to patch you up, it's bound to be quiet this time of night."
He supported her weight as they descended the inner stairwell. Every step sent fresh fire through her body, but the solid presence of Armin beside her made it bearable.
The streets were eerily empty as they moved through shadows between buildings. Moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and black, making the familiar architecture feel somehow wrong. Or maybe it was her that felt wrong, moving through this normal world with blood on her hand.
They kept to the narrowest alleys, avoiding the pools of torchlight cast by passing patrols. Once, voices drifted too close, sending them pressing against the cold stone of a nearby wall, holding their breath as the footsteps faded. The city felt like a ghost of itself at this hour.
At last, they reached the storage building. It was smaller than she expected—a stone chamber with a single barred window that admitted thin moonlight. Wooden crates filled one corner, stacked alongside barrels of what smelled like lamp oil. The air hung thick with dust and the musty scent of disuse.
Armin locked the door behind them, the key's metallic scrape unnaturally loud in the silence, before lighting a small oil lamp that cast long shadows against the rough stone walls.
"Sit," he urged, guiding her to a wooden crate. The hinges of the door creaked as weight settled against it—had the wind pushed it? She couldn't be sure.
Armin retrieved a waterskin from beneath a stack of supplies.The water tasted of minerals and metal, but it soothed her parched throat. As she drank, his gaze lingered on her injuries, darkened blood seeped from the wounds.
"We have to change those," he murmured, reaching for a small kit tucked beside the crates. "They'll become infected."
"It can wait a little," she whispered, lowering the waterskin. "Are you sure no one uses this place? Is it safe to talk here?"
"I'm sure. No one will come until morning. The Garrison let us store our supplies here, said they didn't use it." He met her gaze. "You can speak freely—but let me take care of that. You need it." His voice was gentle but firm.
She nodded, and he got to work, carefully unwrapping the makeshift bandages on her arm. He cleaned around the scrapes first, then around the shards embedded in her skin, his touch precise and light.
"Tell me what happened," he prompted softly. "When you split from us in the forest."
She winced as the cloth brushed raw skin. "We were pursuing the Female Titan. Petra and I..." Her voice faltered. "Commander Erwin tried to trap her, but then everything went wrong. Titans appeared—pale ones."
Armin's fingers paused for just a heartbeat, then resumed their work. "I read about them in a report. They were inside the forest?"
"Yes. They came from nowhere—from underground. Then..." She grimaced as he touched a particularly tender spot. "The framework broke." She gestured weakly toward the broken metal mechanism, what remained of it still strapped to her legs.
"What caused it to break?"
"I don't remember exactly, I think one of those titans pulled it…" she admitted, her gaze drawn to the shadows writhing in the corners. Had one of them moved? "There was so much happening."
His hands moved methodically as he cleaned away the dark, viscous mixture of blood and something else that oozed from her wounds. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the barred window. For an instant, she thought she glimpsed a face there—Heinrik's? No, something else. Something wrong.
"I found Levi's squad," she continued, forcing herself to focus on Armin's steadying presence. "And the Female Titan. She fought them, and... you were right, Armin. She was like Eren."
His expression didn't change, but there was a shift—an almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes. "You saw who was inside?"
"Annie." Meeting his gaze directly. "It was Annie."
For a moment, Armin was still. Then, he gave a slight nod. "That's a lot to process… So, you saw her when the nape was opened?"
"Yes."
"So you must have defeated her." His voice remained even.
"...Yes." Her hesitation was barely perceptible.
"And then?"
"Everything after that is..." She pressed a hand to her temple, pain flashing across her features as something pushed against her mind. "It all blurs together."
Armin's gaze lingered on the gashes across her arms and shoulder. They were deep, jagged.
"Those are deep cuts," he observed. "Did Annie do this to you? You said Levi's squad was there too, what happened to them?"
"No... it's just—" A sharp pain lanced behind her eye. "A headache. They've been happening for..." She trailed off as something wet traced down her cheek. A drop of black liquid oozed from beneath her eyepatch, following the contour of her face. Armin watched, his expression unchanged.
"Since when?" he asked quietly.
She wiped the liquid away absently. "Some time now... I'm the only one who survived. Everyone else was gone when I woke up."
"Everyone?" His voice remained soft, encouraging. "What happened to the others?"
"I found Gunther," she admitted, the name catching in her throat. For a moment, she could feel it again - the warm rush of blood over her hands. "One of Levi's men. His body was in the ashes."
"And the others?"
A shadow in the corner of the room drew her eye. For a heartbeat, she saw Oluo standing there, his throat a ragged ruin, eyes accusing. Her hands began to shake.
"Anja?" Armin's voice pulled her back. The corner was empty now, but the shadows seemed deeper somehow.
She looked away, unable to look at him. "I... I saw remains," she whispered, "Some burned beyond recognition. They didn't make it."
Another shadow flickered at the edge of her vision - a familiar silhouette. She jerked away instinctively, nearly falling from the crate.
"Hey… you're safe," Armin steadied her, his touch grounding. "You're here with me."
Armin worked in silence for a moment, his fingers gentle as they wrapped a clean bandage around one of the smaller wounds. The shadows in the corners seemed to lengthen, stretching across the floor toward them.
"So you think Annie saved you," he said, not quite a question.
Her fingers clenched in her lap. "I know she did. I would have died there otherwise."
Armin's expression remained unchanged, but something in his eyes had shifted—a coldness that hadn't been there before. "What will you do now?" he asked, tying off the bandage. "About Annie?"
Anja looked away, her chest tightening. "I..."
"You didn't want anyone to know you survived," he continued, his tone quiet but insistent. "Did something happen between you two in the forest?"
The shadows seemed to writhe at the mention of Annie's name.
"She... saved me, she…" Anja whispered, her voice faltering. The taste of copper filled her mouth, the images threatening to resurface. She couldn't finish.
Heinrik's form flickered violently near the window.
"And now you want to find her," Armin said, his voice carefully neutral. "Why come to me?"
"Because you see things others don't." Anja met his gaze. "You understand people. Like you understood me, back when everyone else just saw a... monster."
Something passed behind Armin's eyes. He tied off a bandage before asking, "What do you hope to achieve?"
"I need to understand why she's doing all of this... There has to be a reason." Her voice slowly strengthened with conviction. "If I can find her first, talk to her... maybe I can stop more people from dying."
"Even after everything she's done? You know how many of our comrades she has killed?"
"She's still my friend." The words came without hesitation. "She could have killed me in that forest but she didn't. That has to mean something."
Armin studied her face in the lamplight before standing slowly. "It's dangerous," he said, moving toward the stacked crates. He ran a hand over the worn wood. "If she feels threatened..."
"She won't hurt me."
"You can't be certain of that anymore," Armin turned, shadows playing across his features. "Everything's different now."
The lamp's flame guttered, making the shadows jump and stretch. For an instant, she thought she saw Heinrik standing in the corner, his face twisted. But when she blinked, he was gone.
"Annie betrayed everything we fought for," Armin said quietly. "But you'd still risk everything to help her." His voice softened almost breaking. "Why does she matter so much to you, Anja?"
Before she could answer, Armin continued, his tone shifting to something more practical.
"I heard she joined the MPs. If she's smart, she'll head for the interior. The Military Police have many outposts throughout Wall Sina." He moved to adjust the lamp, his movements paused, hesitant. "I might be able to get information about where she's stationed."
Relief flooded through Anja. "You'll help me find her?"
"It's better than you searching blindly," He hesitated, then suddenly moved forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "Promise you won't do anything rash. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."
The hug took her by surprise - His shoulders trembled slightly, and for a moment, she felt like they were children again, holding each other after the fall of Wall Maria.
"Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder. "I promise, I knew I could count on you."
Armin held on for a moment longer, his breath uneven. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were bright. He turned quickly toward the lamp, his hand moving to the wick.
The flame died with a tiny hiss, plunging the room into darkness. Only moonlight from the barred window remained, painting everything in cold, blue-gray tones. The sudden darkness disoriented her.
Something moved in the shadows. Not Heinrik - something else. A presence that made her blood run cold.
"I'm sorry, Anja. It's for your own good." Armin's voice came from near the wall. She heard the soft thud of his back pressing against stone, saw his silhouette slide down to a crouch, fingers rising to cover his ears.
"Armin?" Confusion crept into her voice as metal clicked against metal outside the door. "What-"
Light exploded into the room as the door burst open. A mechanical whir filled the air, followed by the sharp snap of releasing tension. Before she could process the sound, something struck her with crushing force. Steel mesh entangled her limbs, driving her to the ground.
Through the net's links, she saw Armin pressed against the wall, unable to watch. Commander Erwin's silhouette filled the doorway, others moving in.
"Secure her for transport," Erwin commanded, his voice flat and final.
Strong hands seized her arms, wrestling them behind her back. Heavy restraints, clicked around her wrists and ankles. Each cuff bit into her skin.
"What is this?" Anja gasped. Her gaze sought Armin, finding him still pressed against the wall, eyes downcast, unable to meet hers. "Armin!"
The silence that answered her hurt more than any words could have.
"Cadet Anja Wolf," The Commander's voice cut through with brutal clarity, "by the authority of the Scout Regiment, you are hereby taken into custody on charges of treason, for the murders of Scout Regiment personnel Gunther Schultz, Oluo Bozado, and attempted murder of Petra Ral."
The words hit like physical blows. Petra was alive? She looked to Armin, but he wouldn't meet her gaze.
"Under military law, your actions would warrant execution. However, if you cooperate, your life may be spared."
A sharp prick in her neck - someone administering a sedative.
As consciousness began to fade, that thing whispered in her ear, its tone almost gentle: "You see now?"
"You'll never be one of them." it whispered as darkness claimed her.