The Titan and the Queen in Konosuba Volume 1 (Version 2026)

Eren Jaeger—declared traitor, fugitive, and now something far worse—had slipped his chains. His goal was stark, brutal, and terrifyingly simple: eliminate Marley and any nation threatening Paradis. To do so, he sought the true power of the Founding Titan by making physical contact with his half-brother, Zeke Jaeger—the only royal-blooded Eldian alive. 

Skin met skin.In an instant, their consciousnesses were pulled into the Paths—a space beyond time, beyond reason. There, Eren did not plead. He did not hesitate. He walked past Ymir Fritz, silent and unmoved, and severed the last tether holding him back. He did not abandon his humanity. He chose to shed it—like a second skin he no longer needed.

The earth convulsed.

The walls surrounding Paradis groaned—and split open.

Thousands of Colossal Titans, dormant for over a century, emerged from within the stone shells that had imprisoned them. One by one, they stepped forward. The ground cracked beneath their feet. Oceans churned as steam roiled across the horizon. Cities collapsed—not under siege, but under march. No distinction was made between soldier and child, between general and grandmother. The Rumbling had begun.

Chaos erupted across the world.

In Marley, panic surged through the streets. Children screamed for parents who could no longer hear them. Flames leapt from shattered buildings. The air filled with the roar of steam and the deafening thud of titanic footfalls.

Mikasa gripped her blades, knuckles white.

Mikasa: “It’s… too big. What is that?”

Armin stared upward—past the smoke, past the falling ash—toward the monstrous shape forming in the sky.

Armin: “The Founding Titan. Eren’s activated it. We have to stop the Rumbling—now.”

Mikasa: “…But—”

Armin (cutting her off, voice raw but steady): “It’s his will. All of it. He’s using the Colossals to crush Marley’s forces. There’s no negotiation left.”

A silence stretched—thin, taut—before a voice filled their ears. Not through sound. Through the Paths. Eren’s voice, speaking directly into the minds of every Subject of Ymir—the Eldians of Marley and Paradis alike.

“My name is Eren Jaeger. I am now wielding the power of the Founding Titan. The walls of Paradis have opened. The Titans within have begun to march. My aim is to protect the island where I was born—to shield the only home I’ve ever known.”
“The hatred built over centuries… it will never end. I reject that future. I will erase every life outside these walls. Every nation. Every army. Until there is nothing left but silence.”
“This world… has always treated us like monsters. Now, I’ll show them what a real monster looks like.”

The transmission cut off abruptly—mid-sentence, as if even he couldn’t bear to finish.

---

The allied fleet pushed forward—Marleyan warships and Paradisian vessels side by side, an alliance forged in desperation, not trust.

On Marleyan soil, the Colossal Titans advanced.

Marleyan artillery crews loaded shells with frantic precision. Cannons roared—once, twice—striking the titans’ flesh. Steam erupted in thick, blinding plumes. The shells did nothing.

Marleyan Soldier #1 (voice cracking): “It’s… impossible!”

Marleyan Soldier #2: “Commander—what do we do?!”

The commander stood frozen—not from cowardice, but from realization. This wasn’t a battle. It was an extinction event.

Commander (quiet, resigned): “Fall back. There’s no stopping it.”

Then—one soldier stiffened.

Marleyan Soldier #3: “Commander. That silhouette… in the steam…”

The haze parted.

A Titan—massive, skeletal, crowned with long black hair—loomed ahead. Its form was unmistakable.

Commander (whispering): “…The Attack Titan.”

Marleyan Soldier #1: “But—it was destroyed in Shiganshina!”

Commander (voice hollow): “He’s not just using the Founding Titan… He is it now.”

---

Elsewhere—near the cliffs—the surviving civilians huddled. A baby wailed, swaddled in a bloodstained blanket. A mother clutched it, trembling. An old man clutched his chest, gasping.

Elder (hoarse): “Is this… Hell?”

Woman (tears cutting tracks through soot): “No. Hell would be kinder.”

Man (staring at the sky): “It’s real. It’s all real.”

They didn’t pray. They waited.

---

Levi’s blade gleamed in the smoke-choked air.

Above the central Titan’s skull, the Beast Titan crouched—muscles coiled, eyes burning with malice. Levi didn’t flinch.

Levi (soft, venomous): “Been waiting for this, monkey.”

He dropped.

Steel met sinew in a spray of blood and tendon. Levi moved like death given form—precise, relentless. Every slash was a kept promise.

Below, the others descended.

Reiner landed hard, gritting his teeth as he drew his knife.

Reiner (to himself, more than anyone): “Enough running. Enough guilt. This ends now.”

He slashed his palm.

Lightning split the sky.

The Armored and Cart Titans surged forth—smaller now, dwarfed by the monstrosity they fought against—but defiant.

Armin reached the nape first.

He looked up—into the Titan’s face—and saw no malice. No triumph. Just exhaustion. And beneath it, something worse: certainty.

Armin (voice breaking, but clear): “Eren! One last time—what is freedom to you?! Tell me—so I know what I’m tearing out of you when I end this!”

Silence.

Then—the Titan’s jaw shifted.

Inside, Eren stood alone in darkness.

Memories flickered—fast, unbidden:

—Mikasa teaching him to tie his scarf.
—Armin sketching maps under lamplight, dreaming of oceans.
—Jean rolling his eyes. Sasha stealing bread.
—Erwin’s last charge.
—Zeke’s hand, reaching—too late.

He didn’t weep.

He remembered.

And in that remembering, for the first time since stepping into the Paths—

—he hesitated.  

Elsewhere, inside the Walls—while the world burned—a young woman with golden hair and pale blue eyes knelt in a dim chamber, breath ragged, hands braced against cold stone. Historia Reiss, Queen of the Walls, was giving birth.

Outside, the Colossal Titans advanced.

One lunged for Reiner—still armored, still fighting—mouth gaping wide. At the last second, an explosion tore through its jaw. Armin landed hard beside him, grappling hook smoking.

Armin: “Reiner—status?”

Reiner (hoarse, wiping blood from his brow): “Functional. Focus on the Titan—not me.”

Mikasa darted across the colossal form of Eren’s Titan—blades drawn, movements precise, but her eyes lingered too long on the nape. Her hands trembled—just once.

Mikasa (quiet, to no one): “Eren… I… I really…”

A coordinated strike cracked the Titan’s skull—but from the wound, steam erupted violently, and a new shape emerged: the War Hammer Titan, already swinging its crystalline maul.

Reiner and Levi cornered the Beast Titan in a ruined plaza. It fought with Zeke’s old ferocity—but not his cunning. Not his plan. It was raw instinct, rage without direction. Levi ended it with three clean cuts to the nape.

Pieck’s Cart Titan was bisected mid-lunge—its crystalline core shattered by the War Hammer’s strike. She ejected, collapsing to her knees, breath shallow.

Pieck (gasping, smiling faintly): “Guess I’m out of time…”

Armin watched it all—the blood, the steam, the broken bodies—and raised a hand. A signal. Now.

Armin (voice low, resolute): “I don’t know what you saw in the Paths, Eren… but if it convinced you the world had to burn—then I’ll burn with you. To pull you out.”

He dragged the knife across his palm.

Lightning split the sky.

The explosion engulfed the Titan’s head.

Armin (roaring over the blast): “This ends now, EREN!”

Steam swelled—a thick, choking curtain.

When it cleared:

—The Beast Titan lay still.
—The War Hammer’s core was shattered.
—And atop the ruined skull of Eren’s Titan, Armin—Colossal, steaming—stood alongside Reiner (Armored), Pieck (barely conscious), Levi (blade still drawn), and Mikasa.

She stood apart.

In her hands—held gently, almost reverently—was a severed head.

Eren’s.

No blood. No expression. Just stillness.

---

Darkness.

Not painful. Not peaceful. Just… absence. No thunder. No screams. No steam. No future.

Eren opened his eyes.

White.

Not sky. Not light. Just void—pure, featureless, endless. No ground. No limbs. Only awareness. Only thought.

He had a head. That was all.

No pain. No fear. That disturbed him more than agony ever could.

A sound.

—Tch.

A woman’s voice. Light. Annoyingly cheerful.

Eren tried to turn. Couldn’t.

He saw her anyway.

Blue hair. Blue dress. Hands clasped behind her back. She approached like a tour guide inspecting a broken exhibit.

Aqua: “Eren Jaeger. What a mess you left behind.”

Eren (flat, cold): “Who are you? Where is this?”

She grinned.

Aqua: “You’re dead. Decapitated. Mikasa was… very thorough.”

She leaned in, eyes sparkling.

Aqua: “You’re in the afterlife. And—congratulations—you just happened to die right when I was available. I’m Aqua. Goddess. Guide. And—fun fact—yes, the prayers in the Walls? They were reaching someone. Me.”

Eren’s silence was a wall.

Aqua (continuing, undeterred): “Oh! You actually believed we were myths, didn’t you? How adorable. Welcome to the ‘intermediate realm’—not heaven, not hell. Just… processing.”

She twirled a lock of hair.

Aqua: “And no, your Eldian faith wasn’t superstition. Though I do love the look on atheists’ faces when they wake up here.”

Eren didn’t blink.

Aqua (mock-sighing): “Alright, enough fun. Time for business.”

A beat.

Eren (quiet, dangerous): “Send me back.”

Aqua (raising an eyebrow): “Oh? Back? To what? A corpse?”

Eren (voice hardening): “Then rebuild it. You claim to be a goddess—so do it. Or I’ll end you.”

The air didn’t stir. But something shifted—pressure, intent. The same force that had shattered walls and silenced nations now radiated from a head on a floor.

Aqua took half a step back.

Then remembered: This is my domain.

She laughed—short, sharp.

Aqua: “Cute. You can’t even breathe without my say-so, Eren.”

His jaw tightened.

Eren: “Then act like a goddess. Or admit you’re not one.”

Her smile thinned.

Aqua (cooler now): “I can send you back. But I decide how. And given your… record—I could make your next life pure suffering. A form of atonement.”

A pause.

Aqua (softer, almost reluctant): “Eighty percent of the world’s population died in the Rumbling. Eighty percent. And the trauma was so severe… most souls refused reincarnation. They chose erasure. Even in death, your legacy poisoned hope.”

She looked away—just for a second.

Aqua (resuming, briskly): “So. Options.”

She held up a finger.

Aqua: “One: Be reborn as an infant. Clean slate. No memories. No power. Just… life.”

Second finger.

Aqua: “Two: Hell. Not metaphorical. Not ‘punishment’—torment. By actual demons. Not Marleyan propaganda. Real ones. You wouldn’t last a day.”

A third finger. Her tone changed—scripted, rehearsed. Like a recruiter selling a doomed mission.

Aqua: “Or—three—a special assignment. There’s a world under siege by a Demon King’s army. Populations collapsing. No one wants to be reborn there. So we’re sending volunteers—people like you. Dead. Regretful. Useful.”

She leaned in.

Aqua: “You keep your memories. Your skills. And—you get one boon. One power. One talent. Whatever you desire most. Strength. Strategy. Magic. Anything.”

A beat.

Aqua (smiling, but not with her eyes): “You help them survive. They get a hero. You get… a second chance. Sort of.”

Silence.

Eren stared at her.

Not with hope.

Not with defiance.

With calculation.

The silence stretched.

Then, at last—he spoke.

Eren: “…What do you get out of it?”

Aqua’s grin faltered—just for an instant.

Then she beamed.

Aqua: “Oh! That’s the right question.”

Eren’s refusal was immediate. Absolute.

Eren: “I’m not interested. I don’t want another world. I don’t want redemption.”

His gaze was flat—no pleading, no bargaining. Just demand.

Eren: “Send me back.”

Aqua studied him. Not with pity. Not with anger. With assessment.

Aqua (quietly): “I could… But I’d decide the terms. And given what you’ve done—I’d make it brutal. Poetic.”

Eren said nothing. Waited.

She exhaled.

Aqua: “Or—you go there. Keep your memories. Choose one boon. Help stop the Demon King. Succeed, and the gods grant you one wish.”

Silence.

He didn’t think of forgiveness. Didn’t dwell on regret.

He thought of leverage.

Of control.

Of options no one else had.

Then—Eren spoke, voice low, deliberate.

Eren: “Give me the remaining eight Titan powers. All of them. That’s all I ask.”

Aqua went still.

Aqua: “…Excuse me?”

Eren (calm, precise): “The Attack. Founder. Colossal. Armored. Jaw. Female. Beast. Cart. War Hammer. Every shifting Titan ability.”

Aqua paled. Her fingers twitched—not from fear, but from recognition. She remembered the footage flooding her domain: cities erased in minutes, coastlines vaporized, children’s bones crushed under indifferent feet.

Aqua (voice tight): “You used one to erase continents. You expect me to hand you eight more?”

Eren didn’t flinch.

Eren: “You said you were a goddess. So act like one.”

Aqua’s jaw clenched. She ran the variables:

—No Paths.
—No Ymir.
—No royal blood to command Subjects.
—No Wall Titans buried underground.
—No global will to manipulate.

The powers would be copies—bounded, limited. Still devastating. Still dangerous.

But… containable.

She met his eyes.

Aqua (sharp, final): “Fine. Adapted versions. You can’t use them simultaneously. No mind control. No reality warping. They’ll only respond to you—or other Eldians reborn there, if compatible.”

Eren’s expression didn’t change. Not relief. Not triumph.

Just acceptance.

Eren: “Do it. And don’t interfere.”

Aqua raised her hands. Light gathered—not golden, but pale blue, cool and clinical.

Aqua (muttering): “You’re not the first to ask for Titan powers… but you’re the first to ask for all nine.”

A pause. Her voice dropped.

Aqua: “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Eren said nothing.

As the energy coiled around him, he felt it—not pain, but integration. A cascade of instincts, memories not his own: Reiner’s discipline. Annie’s precision. Zeke’s detachment. Bertolt’s dread. Pieck’s pragmatism.

[Eren’s thought: So this is what it feels like—to hold them all.]

Aqua’s voice cut through the hum.

Aqua: “Former villain—I will pray you’re the one who defeats the Demon King. Succeed… and the gods will grant any wish.”

Light flared.

Eren vanished.

Aqua exhaled—long, slow.

Aqua (to the empty white): “…This is going to be a problem.”

---

A ripple.

Another presence entered the void.

A young woman. Blonde. Pale. Dressed in simple, bloodstained linen. Her posture was weary—but unbent.

Aqua forced cheer into her voice.

Aqua: “Welcome, Historia Reiss. I assume you have questions.”

Historia looked around—no panic, only quiet disorientation.

Historia (softly): “Am I… dead?”

Aqua (nodding): “Yes. Complications during childbirth. Your body couldn’t hold on. I’m Aqua—goddess, guide, and—unfortunately—HR for the recently deceased. We’re offering reincarnation. Alternative world. Safer rules.”

Historia’s hand drifted to her abdomen. Fingers pressed—not in pain, but in absence.

Historia: “So… I never held her.”

Aqua hesitated—then chose honesty.

Aqua: “No. But she lives. She’ll be raised. Strong. Prepared. Better than you were.”

Historia looked up, sharp.

Historia: “Eldia… survives?”

Aqua looked away.

Aqua: “Parts of it do.”

No need to say more.

Historia understood. The Rumbling. While she bled out in a vault, the world burned.

Historia (quietly): “Frieda spoke of you… said you were a guardian. A protector.”

Aqua made a face.

Aqua: “People embellish. And lie. I mostly clean up messes.”

Historia studied her—the exhaustion beneath the theatrics, the weariness behind the smile.

Historia: “You’re real. And nothing like the stories.”

Aqua (dryly): “Posthumous disillusionment—free with every death.”

She sighed, then straightened.

Aqua (reciting, halfhearted): “There’s a world threatened by the Demon King’s army—monsters, raids, collapsing kingdoms—”

Historia (interrupting, calm): “What do you expect me to do about it?”

Aqua blinked.

Historia: “I’m a dead queen. I just lost my child, my people, my life. I’m not interested in being a hero.”

The words landed. Aqua faltered.

Historia (continuing): “I stopped believing in gods years ago. In destiny. In grand purposes.”

A beat.

Historia: “But if I must go—I won’t be ignorant again. I won’t trust myths. I want to understand. That world’s rules. Its truths. Its dangers.”

Aqua tilted her head.

Aqua: “Is that… your wish?”

Historia: “If it helps me survive—and protect others—yes.”

Aqua snapped her fingers.

Aqua: “Done. You’ll receive a guide—a companion who—”

She stopped.

The void shivered.

Aqua’s eyes widened.

Aqua: “Oh no.”

A brilliant light flared. Wings unfurled—pure white, radiant.

An angel descended.

Angel (serene, firm): “Aqua. Due to the precise formulation of Lady Historia’s wish—not for power, but for understanding—you are hereby assigned as her guide. You will accompany her.”

Aqua (sputtering): “That’s—that’s against protocol! I’m a desk goddess!”

Angel (unmoved): “The wish is binding. Legal. Unbreakable.”

She turned to Historia, smiling.

Angel: “Brave heroine—I will pray you’re the one who defeats the Demon King. Succeed… and the gods will grant any wish.”

Aqua (outraged): “That was my line!”

Before either could protest further, twin sigils flared beneath their feet.

Light engulfed them.

---

They landed in a sunlit square.

Medieval stone. Thatched roofs. Market stalls. Children laughing.

Peace.

Aqua groaned, clutching her head.

Aqua: “Ugh. Smells like hope. I hate it.”

Historia stood straight. Looked around. Took a slow breath.

Not relief.

Not despair.

Assessment.

She was alive.

She had work to do.

And beside her—a flustered, blue-haired goddess muttering about union complaints and celestial HR violations.

Historia allowed herself the faintest exhale.

Then stepped forward. 

Eren opened his eyes.

Sunlight. Warm. Unfiltered by smoke or steam.

He sat up on a narrow cot in a rented room above a baker’s shop in Axel—walls thin, floorboards creaking, the scent of rising dough drifting up from below.

His hands flexed. Whole. Unscarred. Alive.

No Paths. No memories pressing in from futures that hadn’t happened—just the past, sharp and heavy, but contained. For the first time in over half a decade, his mind was linear. Present. His.

A breath—slow, deliberate.

[Eren: So this… is freedom.]

The word felt strange in his skull. Not triumphant. Just… factual.

He stood. Moved to the window.

Axel sprawled below—wooden houses, cobblestone streets, children chasing chickens. A blacksmith hammered steel. A merchant haggled over herbs. Normalcy. Fragile. Temporary, he assumed.

He’d learned quickly:

—The city was a resettlement zone.
—“Migrants from distant lands” arrived weekly.
—Many carried the same look: guarded eyes, taut shoulders, silence that spoke louder than words.

Eldians. Marleyans. Maybe others.

No one spoke of Walls. No one whispered Titan.

To the locals, they were just foreigners—useful, but unsettling. Especially him.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t make small talk. Watched doorways. Checked exits. Stood too still.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was habit. Instinct. Survival.

In a tavern the night before, he’d overheard talk of Eris—the “reasonable goddess.” No divine interventions. No judgment. Just order.

He said nothing. Drank his water. Left before dessert was served.

Redemption? Heroism? The idea tasted hollow.

He hadn’t chosen the Rumbling. Not truly. It had been set in motion long before he was born—a chain reaction of pain, betrayal, and inherited rage. He’d pulled the trigger, yes. But the gun had been loaded centuries ago.

Here… no gun. No barrel. No fuse.

Just choice.

And right now, the choice was simple: survive. Observe. Adapt.

He needed coin. Shelter. Purpose.

By dusk, he stood before the Adventurer’s Guild—a raucous, timber-framed building buzzing with hunters, mages, and mercenaries.

The form was in his hand before he realized he’d taken it.

Name?

He hesitated—only half a second.

Eren Jaeger.

No alias. No lie.

If the past came for him here, he’d meet it head-on.

The language wasn’t his—but he understood it. Aqua’s doing. A baseline gift. Useful. Infuriating.

He scanned the request board.

Most tasks were mundane: escort caravans, clear goblin dens, gather herbs.

Then—Giant Toads, Western Marsh. 5,000 Er—dead or captured.

His gaze lingered.

Not because it was difficult.

But because it was predictable.

—No civilians nearby.
—No collateral risk.
—Isolated terrain.

A test. Not of strength. Of control.

He accepted.

---

The marsh stank of rot and stagnant water.

Three toads—each the size of a draft horse—crouched near a half-devoured goat. Bulging eyes. Sticky skin. Poison glands pulsing faintly.

Eren didn’t draw a weapon. Didn’t need to.

He bit into his palm.

Lightning cracked—not blinding, but sharp, like shattering glass.

Steam billowed.

From the vapor rose a humanoid figure: fifteen meters tall, lean, dark-haired. The Attack Titan.

It didn’t roar. Not yet.

It assessed.

The toads lunged—tongues whip-fast.

The Titan sidestepped, fist already hardening—not full crystallization, just enough to resist impact. One strike—clean, precise—crushed the first toad’s skull. No flourish. No overextension.

The second toad leapt.

The Titan grabbed it mid-air, slammed it down once. Spine snapped. Done.

The third hesitated.

Eren, inside, felt the old heat rise—the urge to stomp, to crush, to erase.

[Eren: No.]

He forced the impulse down.

This wasn’t Marley. These weren’t soldiers. These were monsters. Pests. Prey.

The Titan exhaled—steam misting in the cool air.

Then, with mechanical efficiency, it pinned the last toad, drove a hardened fist through its skull, and withdrew.

Silence returned.

No blood frenzy. No savage repetition. Just termination.

The Titan dissolved into steam.

Eren stood alone in the clearing—breathing hard, hands trembling—not from exertion, but from restraint.

He wiped his mouth.

Walked back toward Axel.

Not a hero.

Not a monster.

Just a man learning how to hold his own rage.

And for now—that was enough. 

The rage receded—like a tide pulling back, leaving cracked earth behind.

Eren stood over the crushed remains of the last toad, breathing hard. Steam curled from the dissipating Titan’s frame. His body ached—not from wounds, but from suppression. The heat in his chest hadn’t vanished. It had just been locked away again.

He stepped out of the nape.

Scars flared at the corners of his eyes—thin, red lines, already fading. Not a mark of power. A receipt. Proof of what he’d done. What he was.

[Eren: Demon of Paradis. That’s what they called me. And they were right.]
[I took lives. I don’t regret it. I’ll do it again—this time, for a purpose I choose.]

His wounds sealed. Not instantly. Not magically. Skin knit—tight, tender, human.

He wiped blood from his knuckles.

Eren (quiet, to himself): “The meat’s salvageable.”
A pause.
“Goes for more than herbs. Better than hauling corpses.”

---

The Guild was louder by midday.

Eren approached the counter—shoulders tense, gaze fixed straight ahead.

The receptionist was young, sharp-eyed, orange-haired. Luna. Her uniform—practical, worn at the elbows—suggested she’d seen her share of newcomers.

She didn’t stare at his build. Didn’t flinch at his silence.

Professional. But wary.

Eren (flat): “I’ve come to sell giant toad meat.”

Luna: “Understood. May I see your Adventurer Card, please? I’m Luna.”

Eren: “...Card?”

She blinked.

Luna (gentle, not condescending): “To claim bounties or sell monster parts, you need to be registered. It tracks contributions, risk level, rewards.”

Eren (after a beat): “Fine. Register me. I’ll pay the fee with the meat.”

Luna nodded—no judgment, just efficiency.

She led him to a side alcove, pulled out a milky crystal sphere.

Before she could explain, Eren placed his palm on it.

The sphere flared—once—gold-white.

Luna read the glyphs that rose to its surface.

Her breath hitched.

Luna (quiet, stunned): “Eren Jaeger… All physical stats—off the scale. Strength, agility, endurance. Reflexes like a trained assassin. Magic affinity… minimal. Intellect—solid. Tactical processing, exceptional.”

She looked up.

Luna: “You could be a frontline warrior. Or a scout. Or both.”

A flicker crossed Eren’s face—not pride. Recognition.

The weight of ODM gear. The snap of blades cutting tendon. The rhythm of movement drilled into bone.

Eren: “Swordmaster.”

From the back, a broad-shouldered man in battered armor watched—a veteran, arms crossed.

Rufián (murmuring, amused): “Huh. Looks like things just got interesting.”

Luna handed Eren a stamped card.

Receptionist (still wide-eyed): “Here’s your first payment. You’re official.”

Eren (nodding, no smile—just acknowledgment): “Thanks.”

---

That evening, he ate alone at the Guild’s tavern.

Stew. Thick. Smelling of frog legs.

He chewed slowly.

No guilt. No sentiment. Just fuel.

The memories came anyway—not as visions, but as echoes:

—Mikasa’s hand, gripping his scarf.
—Armin’s voice, trembling but firm: “Tell me what freedom means to you.”
—Historia, holding a newborn he’d never meet.

[Eren: This time… I won’t let it happen again. Not if I can stop it.]

But how?

Protecting someone didn’t mean controlling their fate. He knew that now.

It meant showing up. Staying. Fighting with them—not for them.

The distinction mattered.

---

He slept.

And the past waited.

—Darkness. The Paths.—

Not Ymir as she was. But Ymir as he remembered her: silent, watching, chains broken.

Ymir (voice soft, almost tired): “Didn’t think you’d be surprised to see me.”

Eren (tense): “The Rumbling’s over. I’m dead. What do you want?”

Ymir: “Removed the 13-year curse. The others… they live. Not happily. Not easily. But they’re alive.”
A pause.
“They remember you. All of it.”

Eren didn’t respond.

Ymir (fading): “You’re not a slave anymore, Eren. So… be free. Even if it’s ugly.”

Then—nothing.

He woke before dawn.

Sweat-damp. Jaw clenched. Heart hammering not from fear—from readiness, as if his body expected an attack any second.

He dressed in silence.

The city was still.

He needed to move. To do.

So he hunted again.

Not for coin this time.

For quiet.

The toads fell faster. Cleaner. No hesitation. No overkill. Just efficiency.

But when he arrived at the Guild with six corpses slung over his shoulders, the weight wasn’t enough.

His hands itched.

Before he thought—before he could stop himself—he activated the Partial Titan.

Two massive arms erupted from his back—gray, sinewy, disproportionate—not full transformation, just function.

He dragged the carcasses.

Down the main street.

Deep grooves tore the packed earth.

People stopped.

A child dropped a wooden sword.

A merchant pulled his daughter inside.

The Guild clerk—same one from before—stepped forward, hands raised, palms out.

Clerk (cautious, not confrontational): “Eren—wait. We’ve got carts. Or porters. You don’t have to—”

Eren kept walking.

Not defiant. Not aggressive.

Just… unaware.

In his world, leaving bodies unsecured meant risks: infection, scavengers, ambushes. You moved fast. You secured the kill. You controlled the aftermath.

Here, it was just meat.

But his body hadn’t learned that yet.

He dropped the corpses at the Guild steps.

Dismissed the Titan limbs.

Steam dissipated.

Silence.

Then—

Luna (approaching, voice calm but firm): “Eren.”

He turned.

Luna: “What you did… it’s not wrong. But it alarms people. They don’t know you. They see… something they can’t understand.”

A beat.

Luna: “We need trust here. More than strength.”

Eren looked at the grooves in the road.

At the pale faces in doorways.

He didn’t apologize.

But he nodded—once.

Eren (quiet): “Next time… I’ll use a cart.”

The silence after Eren dropped the toad carcasses was thick—not hostile, but charged.

He turned to leave.

Didn’t hear the whispers. Or chose not to.

But they were there:

—“He moves like someone who’s seen cities fall.”
—“Notice how he watches rooftops? Not paranoia. Training.”
—“I heard he took down six giant toads—alone—in under ten minutes. Didn’t even break a sweat.”

No names. No accusations. Just data, passed between migrants who’d survived their own collapses. Some Eldian. Some Marleyan. None spoke openly of Paradis. But they knew.

Eren felt it—the weight of recognition—not as threat, but as fact. Like weather. You don’t fight it. You adapt.

He kept his head down. Took low-tier missions: clearing wolf dens, repairing flood-damaged levees, hunting oversized rats in the sewers. Work others avoided—not because it was hard, but because it was boring.

The Guild staff treated him with careful neutrality: polite, efficient, never lingering.

Axel began to slot him into a category: Useful. Unpredictable. Best left undisturbed.

He preferred it that way.

Staying in Axel wasn’t cowardice. It was strategy.

The capital—rumor said—was flooded with re-entrants. Former soldiers. Commanders. Maybe even Warriors. He wasn’t ready for that reckoning. Not yet.

Here, he could breathe. Could think. Could wait.

His house was small—wooden, two rooms, a narrow yard—paid for in blood and coin. No luxuries. Just walls. A roof. A door he could lock.

At night, the dreams came.

Not visions. Not premonitions. Just memory: the smell of burning hair, the sound of Mikasa’s voice cracking as she said his name for the last time, the weight of Zeke’s hand in his.

He woke sweating. Jaw clenched. Fingers curled into fists.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

He got up. Sharpened his blade. Ran drills until dawn.

Survival wasn’t about peace. It was about control. And here—in this quiet, fragile city—he was learning, slowly, how to hold his own rage without letting it shatter everything around him.

---

Then—two figures appeared at the city gates.

One stood tall, shoulders straight, gaze steady—Historia Reiss.

The other stumbled, tripped over her own feet, and dropped to her knees with a wail.

Aqua (voice breaking, raw): “I—I can’t feel it. The power. It’s gone.”

She tried to summon light. Nothing. Tried to float. Fell flat on her back.

Historia didn’t flinch. Didn’t reach out immediately. She watched—assessing, as she’d been trained to do. Then, when Aqua curled in on herself, sobbing—not theatrically, but in genuine, disoriented terror—Historia knelt.

Not with pity. With recognition.

Historia (quiet): “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

Aqua looked up—eyes red, face streaked.

Aqua (hoarse): “You don’t understand. I’m nothing here. Just… meat and bone.”

A beat.

Historia: “Then we’re the same.”

She held out her hand. Not to pull. Just to offer.

Aqua stared at it. Then—slowly, reluctantly—grabbed it.

Not to stand. Just to anchor.

Historia: “I lost my daughter. My home. My world. If you’re afraid… I am too. But I won’t leave you.”

Aqua’s breath hitched.

Then—abruptly—she wiped her face with her sleeve, stood, and smoothed her dress.

Aqua (forcing brightness): “Right! So! Axel. Gateway to adventure! Or… at least, to slightly less boring taverns.”

Historia almost smiled. Almost.

She looked past Aqua—at the city: bright, loud, alive. No walls. No titans. No certainty.

Just possibility.

And—for the first time in years—choice. 

Historia walked beside Aqua through Axel’s winding streets—past bakeries puffing cinnamon-scented steam, past blacksmiths hammering horseshoes, past children chasing chickens with alarming tactical coordination.

She didn’t gawk. Didn’t reach out to touch the colorfully painted signs.

But her questions came, quiet and precise—like a strategist assessing terrain.

Historia: “This world… How does it work? What lives here? What kind of threats exist?”

Aqua sighed—still wiping the last of her tears—with the air of someone forced to explain tax law to a very serious child.

Aqua: “Think of it like… a battlefield with rules. People here are born with affinities—strength, magic, reflexes. They train. Join guilds. Take jobs: kill monsters, escort caravans, fix broken bridges. It’s all logged. Graded. Ranked.”

Historia (frowning slightly): “Mercenaries?”

Aqua: “Regulated mercenaries. With paperwork.”

A beat.

Historia: “And the gods?”

Aqua (shrugging): “They know we exist. I’ve got a small cult—mostly confused drunks who mistake me for a patron saint of hangovers. Most people prefer Eris.”

Historia: “Eris?”

Aqua (waving a hand): “Long story. Also—don’t be surprised if you see someone summon a meteor or turn into a walrus. Reincarnated souls sometimes bring… extras.”

Historia stopped walking.

Historia (quietly): “…Extras. Like… Titan powers?”

Aqua froze mid-step.

Her smile didn’t vanish. It just… tightened.

Aqua: “…Yeah. A few. Though it’s not exactly a popular wish. Hard to explain ‘I want to turn into a fifteen-meter naked berserker’ on the application form.”

Historia exhaled.

Historia: “So we’ll need shelter. Income. A way in.”

Aqua (brightening, pointing to a nearby bulletin board): “Easy! I’m a goddess—remember? Look!”

She jabbed a finger at a request pinned beneath several others:

Giant Toads – Western Marsh
Reward: 5,000 Er
Dead or captured. Poisonous. Do not anger.

Historia (deadpan): “…You want to hunt toads.”

Aqua (beaming): “First mission! And—please—just call me Aqua. ‘Goddess’ draws attention. And paperwork.”

---

Reality, however, had other plans.

They didn’t have the 1,000 Er fee for Adventurer Cards.

Aqua tried diplomacy.

She approached a priest of Eris—hands clasped, eyes shining—and announced, in her most solemn tone:

Aqua: “I am Aqua, guide of souls, guardian of the departed—”

Priest (without looking up from his ledger): “Mm-hmm. And I’m the Archduke of Sandwichia. Would you like a pamphlet on honesty?”

Aqua deflated.

Aqua (muttering): “Fine. Thank you, Your Grace—”

To their surprise, the priest slid three coins across the counter.

Priest (tired, kind): “Here. Eris helps all who ask—even the theatrical ones. Just… don’t lie again.”

Three coins. Barely enough for bread.

---

At the Guild, Luna ran the assessment.

Aqua placed her hand on the crystal.

It glowed—gold, steady.

Luna blinked.

Luna: “Aqua… wow. Strength, endurance, vitality—all elite. Agility, decent. Intelligence… adequate.”

Aqua preened.

Aqua: “Of course. I am divine.”

Luna (gently): “Which means… you can’t be a mage. Magic requires… higher cognitive processing.”

Aqua’s face fell.

Aqua (grumbling): “Fine. I’ll be a High Priestess. Healing! Purification! Grace under pressure! Beat that, Historia.”

Historia didn’t rise to the bait.

She placed her hand on the sphere.

It pulsed—soft blue.

Luna: “Historia Reiss. Balanced stats. Above-average intellect. Luck—average. You’d make a solid mage… or a very good thief.”

Historia didn’t hesitate.

Historia: “Thief.”

Aqua sputtered.

Aqua: “You’re a queen!”

Historia (calm): “Queens learn to survive. Thieves do too.”

---

They worked construction.

Aqua carried bricks—for exactly twenty minutes. Then she discovered lunch.

Specifically: roast chicken, honey-glazed turnips, and ale.

She developed a… relationship with the latter.

Historia (watching Aqua attempt to juggle three tankards): “You’ve had enough.”

Aqua (grinning, sloshing ale onto her boots): “Nonsense! I’m hydrating—with flavor!”

Historia didn’t argue. She just made sure Aqua slept in the stable—far from hay (flammable) and livestock (easily startled).

At night, over thin stew, they’d talk.

And always—always—their eyes drifted to the shop window down the street.

A sword. Simple. Well-balanced. Real.

Weeks of brick-dust and sore backs later—they bought it.

Not for glory.

For leverage.

---

The toad hunt began… poorly.

Historia: “Where’s Aqua?”

A rustle in the reeds.

Aqua burst forth—arms raised, eyes blazing with righteous fury.

Aqua (dramatic crescendo): “FOUL AMPHIBIAN! PREPARE FOR GOD BLOW—THE FIST OF DIVINE JUDGMENT!”

She did move fast. Unnaturally so—pure adrenaline and misplaced confidence.

Her fist connected.

The toad blinked.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t react.

Aqua stared at her knuckles. Then at the toad.

Aqua (voice small): “…You’re… actually quite handsome, now that I—”

The tongue lashed out.

Thwip.

Aqua disappeared—mostly—down the gullet. Only her legs remained, kicking weakly.

Historia (already running): “Aqua—!”

She wrenched the toad’s jaw open—no finesse, just raw leverage—and yanked.

Aqua slid out, soaked in thick, foul-smelling slime, coughing violently.

Aqua (gasping): “H-Historia! You—you saved me!”

Historia (helping her up, voice flat): “You’re welcome.”

Aqua (dripping, grinning weakly): “So… maybe… don’t fight giant toads alone?”

Historia: “Understood.”

They returned to the Guild. Soaked. Defeated. Covered in amphibian residue.

The clerk said nothing.

Just handed them a towel.

And a lower-tier request: Rat extermination. 500 Er.

---

Days passed.

Aqua drank. Historia ate. Watched. Waited.

One evening, over shared stew, Aqua slammed her tankard down—nearly upright.

Aqua (slurring, but earnest): “We need allies. A team. I mean—look at us! You’re a queen-slash-thief! I’m… a very damp goddess!”

Historia didn’t argue.

The next morning, they pinned a notice to the Guild board:

Seeking Companions
Skills valued: combat, strategy, common sense.
Disqualifiers: chronic dishonesty, spontaneous combustion.
—H. & A.

They waited.

No one came.

Then—

A small figure in a black robe and oversized hat stopped. Read the notice. Nodded once—sharply.

She marched to their table, slammed a fist down (missing the mug by a millimeter), and declared:

Megumin: “FATE HAS SPOKEN! I—Megumin, Arch-Wizard of the Crimson Magic Clan, Master of Explosive Arts—accept your summons!”

She struck a pose.

A single leaf drifted down from the rafters.

Historia blinked.

Aqua—still slightly hungover—peered over her cup.

Aqua: “…You do know we can’t afford rent, right?”

Megumin (unfazed): “MONEY IS TEMPORARY! EXPLOSIONS ARE ETERNAL!”

Historia said nothing.

Megumin’s declaration hung in the air—dramatic, sincere, utterly unmoored from practical reality.

Then the arch-wizard collapsed—not theatrically. Just… thump. Face-first onto the Guild’s worn floorboards. A faint gurgle echoed from her stomach.

Historia was beside her in two strides.

No flourish. No hesitation. She knelt, checked pulse, pupils—training, not instinct.

Historia (softly): “When was the last time you ate?”

Megumin groaned, one eye cracking open.

Megumin: “Three days. I’ve been… conserving energy. For the moment.”

Historia (already standing, pulling coins from her pouch): “Right. Stay there.”

Aqua watched, arms crossed.

Aqua (sotto voce): “She’s exactly as advertised.”

---

The tavern’s bread-and-stew arrived.

Megumin ate like someone who’d forgotten what chewing was for—efficient, desperate, loud. Crumbs flew. Gravy vanished. She polished the bowl with her sleeve.

Historia ate slowly. Watched. Listened.

When Megumin finally leaned back—stomach distended, eyes half-lidded with bliss—Historia spoke, voice low, firm.

Historia: “You’re in. Under one condition: you listen first. Then explode after.”

Megumin sat bolt upright.

Megumin: “Understood! My loyalty is yours! My power—yours! My—”

Historia (holding up a hand): “Just… eat regularly.”

Aqua flipped Megumin’s Adventurer Card.

Aqua (grinning): “Arch-Wizard Megumin. Hmm. ‘Affinity: Explosive Magic.’ ‘Limitation: One use per day.’ ‘Personality: Unstable.’ …Wait, is that official?”

Megumin (indignant): “Exuberant! And my parents’ names are perfectly dignified!”

Aqua: “Hyoizaburo?”

Megumin (defensive): “It means ‘frost-born valor’!”

Historia almost smiled.

Almost.

---

The marsh was quiet. Damp. The air smelled of mud and rot.

Three toads emerged—slow, deliberate, tongues flicking.

Historia (calm): “Three. Megumin—your move.”

Megumin (already chanting, staff raised): “Understood! I require… thirty seconds!”

Aqua, however, required zero.

She sprinted—robe flapping, expression fierce.

Aqua: “This time, I—!”

The toad’s tongue snapped out.

Gloop.

Aqua vanished—again—into warm, humid darkness.

Historia didn’t sigh. Didn’t flinch. She just shifted stance—ready to intervene—when—

Light erupted.

Not fire. Not lightning.

Annihilation.

Megumin’s chant peaked—voice raw, body trembling—and the world bent.

—BOOOOOOM—

The explosion wasn’t just sound. It was pressure. A wall of force slammed outward, kicking up dirt, snapping reeds, knocking Historia a step back.

When the smoke cleared:

—One toad: gone.
—A crater: twenty meters wide.
—One arch-wizard: flat on her back, eyes wide, breathing shallow.

Megumin (weakly): “…Worth it.”

The second toad, stunned but alive, lurched toward the prone mage.

Historia moved.

Not fast. Precise. She stepped into its path, drew the short sword at her hip—not with flourish, but with the quiet certainty of someone who’d cut tendons before breakfast—and slashed low. A hamstring. The toad collapsed, thrashing.

She turned.

The third toad was already leaping—straight at Megumin.

Historia didn’t have time.

But Megumin, sprawled and spent, grinned.

Megumin (hoarse): “Historia… one more thing.”

She fumbled at her belt—pulled a small, black sphere.

Megumin: “Backup.”

She tossed it.

Historia caught it. Felt the faint hum. Explosive core. Single-use.

She didn’t hesitate.

She threw.

The sphere struck the toad mid-leap.

—KA-THUMP—

Not a fireball. A concussive pulse—enough to stun, not obliterate.

The toad crashed down, dazed.

Historia was on it in two strides. One clean cut.

Silence.

Steam rose from the craters.

Megumin sat up, swaying.

Historia (offering a hand): “Any other spells?”

Megumin (serious now): “I could learn healing. Or barriers. But…” She looked at her staff. At the scorched earth. “…My path is set. One explosion. Per day. Perfection.”

Historia studied her—not with disappointment.

With calculation.

Then—quietly:

Historia: “We’ll work with that.”

Megumin’s eyes shone.

Megumin: “You won’t regret it!”

Historia (dry): “We’ll see.”

Aqua, meanwhile, was spat out by the toad—dripping, furious, and very sticky.

Aqua (spitting): “I hate amphibians.”

---

Later, in the communal baths—steam rising, exhaustion settling like dust—

The three sat in silence. Not awkward. Just tired.

Aqua leaned back, eyes closed.

Megumin traced steam patterns on the tile.

Historia watched the water ripple.

No grand speeches. No declarations of friendship.

Just three women—displaced, damaged, determined—sharing warmth.

For the first time in years, Historia didn’t feel alone.

Not because they were friends.

But because they were here.

Alive.

Trying.

---

At the Guild—same hour—Eren sat alone.

Elbows on the table. Mug untouched. Gaze fixed on nothing.

Then—a presence.

He didn’t look up.

Eren: “Can I help you?”

Darkness stood there—armor polished, posture rigid, face already flushing.

Darkness (voice cracking slightly): “I—I saw the recruitment notice…”

Eren finally lifted his eyes.

Saw the sign—not his.

Saw her.

Saw the way her breath hitched when he frowned.

His stomach dropped.

Oh.

Eren (flat): “That’s not mine.”

Darkness (already trembling): “B-But your reputation—brutal, relentless, uncompromising—”

Eren (standing): “I work alone.”

He turned to leave.

Darkness (blurting): “I-I can be your shield! I thrive under pressure! Under… criticism!”

Eren (stopping, genuinely baffled): “…What?”

Her blush deepened. Her fists clenched. Her voice dropped to a thrilled whisper.

Darkness: “Yes. Exactly that tone.”

Eren stared.

Then—quietly, with the weary resignation of a man who’d just realized the universe had a sense of humor—said:

Eren: “No.”

He walked out.

Darkness stood frozen—heart hammering, face burning—until a calm voice broke the spell.

Historia (from the doorway, bag over shoulder): “The meeting’s here.”

Darkness spun.

Darkness (desperate, hopeful): “Please—let me join! I’ll carry supplies! Take point! Endure anything!”

Historia studied her—the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of need beneath the theatrics.

Not weakness.

Purpose. Misdirected. But real.

Historia (after a beat): “My name’s Historia. We’re assembling at the stables at dawn. Don’t be late.”

Darkness’s breath caught.

Darkness: “Y-Yes, ma’am!”

Historia nodded—once—and walked past.

No promises.

Just a chance.

In the stables that night, under a roof that leaked when it rained, three women slept.

One snored.

One muttered about “maximum blast radius.”

One—Historia—lay awake for a long time, listening to the rhythm of their breathing.

Not peace.

But something close.

Something possible.

The next morning, Historia met Aqua and Megumin outside the stables.

Historia: “I’m fine. Let’s go to the Guild.”

Aqua (cheerfully): “Understood! A goddess like me will handle everything!”

Megumin (clutching her staff): “My Explosive Magic will clear any obstacle!”

They arrived to find Darkness already waiting—posture rigid, cheeks faintly flushed.

Darkness (brightly): “I was expecting you! This time, I will join your group!”

Aqua blinked. Historia exhaled.

Aqua (to Historia): “Wait—is this the paladin you mentioned?”

Historia (after a pause): “…She deserves a chance.”

Darkness bowed deeply.

Darkness: “I’m Darkness. Pleasure to meet you.”

She offered her Adventurer Card. Megumin scanned it, then nodded.

Megumin: “A paladin. That’s useful.”

Historia (smiling faintly): “She seems… genuine.”

Darkness (eager): “Then—let’s talk!”

Before they could, a new voice cut in—light, teasing, confident.

A young woman leaned against the doorway, leather armor fitted for speed, a dagger sheathed at her hip. Her grin was sharp, knowing.

Chris: “Heard you were forming a team. Chris—thief. And, technically, Darkness’s friend.” She winked. “Interested in learning how to actually steal things?”

Historia’s eyes lit up.

Historia: “I’m Historia. I’m training as a thief already.”

Chris stepped forward.

Chris: “Perfect. Let’s start with basics: stealth, threat detection, theft. All passive. All practical.”

She demonstrated—using Darkness, who stood bewildered, as a “target.”

Chris (quietly): “Stealth isn’t invisibility. It’s stillness. Breath control. Knowing where light isn’t.”

Historia mimicked her stance. Shifted weight. Let her shoulders relax. Within minutes, she’d vanished into the alley’s shadow—not magically, but tactically.

Chris: “Detection next. Not magic. Instinct. Listen to footfalls. Watch for shifts in air. People leave ripples.”

Historia closed her eyes. Focused. After a few tries, she flinched—before Aqua accidentally kicked a pebble ten meters away.

Chris (grinning): “Good. Now—theft.”

She tapped Darkness’s belt pouch.

Chris: “Say ‘Robo’ and reach. It’s not magic—it’s misdirection. Your hand moves with their attention, not against it.”

Historia: “Robo.”

Her fingers brushed Darkness’s side—and came away with a spare coin.

Darkness gasped—not in anger. In awe.

Darkness: “That was… elegant.”

Historia didn’t smile. But her shoulders eased.

Then—a voice boomed across the square, magically amplified:

Luna (from the Guild steps): “Emergency mission! All adventurers—report to the Guild immediately!”

The town stilled.

Darkness perked up.

Darkness (dreamily): “Ah—cabbage season.”

Eren, passing by with a sack of supplies, paused.

Eren (flat): “Cabbage. Is that a monster?”

He kept walking. Farm work brought back memories he’d rather forget.

Back at the Guild, Megumin explained:

Megumin: “Round. Green. Edible.”

Darkness (reverently): “Crisp. Refreshing.”

Historia (already moving): “We should go.”

Outside, dozens of adventurers stood ready—weapons drawn, faces grim.

Then Luna emerged, holding a plump, glossy cabbage.

Luna (beaming): “Apologies for the alarm! It’s harvest time—and this year’s cabbages are premium! 10,000 Er each! They’re flying—literally—toward the coast. Catch them intact, and you’re rich!”

A cheer erupted.

Aqua leaned in.

Aqua: “They sprout wings when ripe. Glide for miles. We eat them. In stew. With butter.”

Chris cracked her knuckles.

Chris: “Alright. Teamwork. Aqua—netting. Megumin—controlled blasts. Darkness—crowd control. Historia—interception.”

What followed was less battle, more chaotic harvest.

Darkness charged—missed every cabbage—then leapt in front of a stray one hurtling toward a child.

Darkness (taking the full impact, armor denting): “I’ll protect the weak!”

Megumin waited—calmly—until three cabbages clustered mid-air.

Megumin (staff raised): “EXPLOSION!”

The blast wasn’t aimed at them—it shocked the air, disrupting their flight. They tumbled—unharmed—into waiting nets.

Historia moved like smoke—silent, swift—snatching falling cabbages mid-air, cushioning landings, redirecting trajectories with precise nudges.

Aqua, meanwhile, discovered her purification magic worked wonders on soil—and began “blessing” fields for future yield. (The farmers were confused but grateful.)

By dusk, they’d secured twelve cabbages—intact.

Darkness lay on her back, armor cracked, face flushed—not from pain, but exhilaration.

Historia (kneeling beside her): “You alright?”

Darkness (grinning, breathless): “Better than alright.”

Historia extended a hand—palm up.

Historia: “Welcome to the team.”

Darkness took it.

Tight.

At the Guild, they collected their reward.

Then—Darkness hesitated.

Chris (pointing at her card): “You’ve got skill points. Want to boost swordsmanship?”

Darkness (immediately): “No. Resistance. Always resistance.”

Historia sighed—but didn’t argue.

Historia: “Fine. But next time—dodge first. Then tank.”

Darkness nodded, serious.

Later, in the Guild’s quiet corner, Chris and Historia pored over her progress.

Chris (tracing a line on the card): “Your stealth’s elite. Detection—solid. Theft… needs finesse. Try lifting instead of grabbing. Less resistance.”

Historia (nodding): “Understood.”

She practiced—subtle wrist flicks, breath-synchronized movements.

Not for glory.

For control.

For the quiet satisfaction of a hand closing around opportunity—before it even knew it was gone. 

Historia noted how most rookie adventurers, once experienced enough, left Axel—heading for richer cities, better contracts, the capital of Belzerg. She considered it, but her stats were still too low for high-risk zones. Eren, despite his wealth from Titan-powered bounties, stayed low-profile—no showiness, no upgrades beyond necessity. She still wondered if others from their world had re-embodied across the kingdom—Armin, Mikasa, maybe even old enemies. Reunions, if they came, would be inevitable. But for now, Axel was where they sharpened their edges.

She hadn’t chosen to lead. It simply happened. She spoke little, listened more, and decisions stuck—not because she demanded them, but because they made sense. Chris and Darkness had formally joined. Megumin remained a controlled detonation waiting for clearance. Aqua… remained Aqua.

At the Guild, tension simmered. Aqua stood before Luna, fists on hips.

Aqua: “Why won’t you pay me?! I caught dozens!”

Luna (apologetic but firm): “Aqua-san… those weren’t cabbages. They were lettuces. Different season. Different bounty.”

Aqua (collapsing inward): “Lettuces?!”

She stormed over to Historia and seized her shoulders, shaking her lightly.

Aqua (desperate): “Tell me you have money! Please! I spent everything on tavern tabs—I thought I was rich!”

Historia didn’t pull away. She gripped Aqua’s wrists—gentle, grounding.

Historia: “Breathe.”

Megumin tilted her head.

Megumin: “We should take another mission. Preferably one requiring Explosion.”

Darkness (brightening): “I’d welcome the chance to test my endurance!”

Historia (calmly): “After.”

She reached into her pouch and handed Aqua a small, worn leather bag—no flourish, no speech.

Aqua stared at it like it was sacred.

Aqua (voice cracking): “For… me?”

Historia: “Yes. I won’t let anyone in this group starve.”

Aqua’s eyes welled. She clutched the bag to her chest.

Aqua: “Historiaaaa… You’re too good. Anyone would fall for you.”

She turned, hurried to a corner where three rough-looking adventurers waited—and paid them off without a word. Then, she marched to the tavern, ordered stew, bread, and a small ale—then slid into the booth beside Historia, who watched her with quiet amusement.

Chris, observing from the bar, gave a small, knowing nod.

Chris (softly): “Admirable. Not many clerics show that kind of… devotion.”

Aqua puffed up.

Aqua: “Of course not! I’m Aqua, divine figure of the Order of Axis—”

Chris (leaning in, voice low): “Must be exhausting… carrying that kind of weight.”

Aqua froze. A chill—not fear, but recognition—ran through her.

Historia said nothing. Neither confirmed nor denied.

Megumin squinted.

Megumin: “Wait. Aqua calls herself a goddess?”

Darkness (blinking): “Huh. Is that… a title? Or…?”

Aqua (defensive): “It’s factual.”

Historia (smoothly shifting): “Anyway—I’ve leveled up. Basic thief skills, a few low-tier spells. Cabbage harvest gave us good points.”

Chris (smirking): “Fast learner.”

Historia: “Not talent. Habit.”

Days passed. Missions dwindled. The Guild board grew sparse—only beginner-tier jobs remained.

Luna (sighing): “Sorry. A Demon General moved into a nearby castle. Monsters fled. No pests, no work.”

They slept in stables—cheap, drafty, but safe. The townsfolk respected them, if cautiously. Aqua’s eyes gleamed.

Aqua (to Megumin, whispering): “That abandoned castle outside town… you were scolded for using Explosion in the city…”

Megumin’s grin spread.

Megumin: “I see.”

Aqua: “I carry you back when you collapse. Deal?”

Megumin (clapping once): “Deal.”

They left before dawn.

Meanwhile, Eren’s reputation in Axel hardened—not from failure, but from excess. He’d amassed wealth, bought property, yet people crossed the street when he passed. His latest job: manticore extermination near a graveyard. Efficient. Brutal. Over in minutes.

Back with the group—

Megumin (excited): “Got two missions! Manticores and the Zombie Maker—rumored to lurk in that same cemetery.”

Historia: “We can handle it.”

They set out—mountain roads, crumbling headstones, mist clinging to the ground. At dusk, they camped beside a fire. No objections. Just quiet prep.

Aqua poked the flames.

Aqua (casually): “You know I can revive the dead? And exorcise ghosts?”

Historia (frowning): “Exorcise?”

Aqua (nodding): “Yep. Banish lingering spirits. Cleanse cursed grounds. Standard divine toolkit.”

Historia looked at the dark tree line—then back at the fire.

Historia: “Good to know.”

Night fell as they entered the forest bordering the cemetery—thick, silent, unnaturally still. No owls. No wind. Chris’s fingers twitched near her dagger, her step lightening, eyes scanning the dark.

Then—movement.

Zombies shambled from between the trees, rotting, slack-jawed, drawn to the warmth of the living.

Chris moved first—darting forward, silent, her blade flashing. No grand strikes—just precise cuts to joints, hamstrings, the base of the skull. Efficient. Quiet. She’d trained for worse.

Aqua, meanwhile, squinted past the fray.

Aqua (pointing): “There! That robed figure—that’s the Zombie Maker!”

Historia (skeptical): “It’s just standing there. Are you sure?”

Aqua (indignant): “Of course I’m sure! That’s a lich—a high-tier undead! Former archmage, now ruler of the dead!”

Without waiting, Aqua sprinted ahead—straight for the robed figure—and began stomping on the glowing sigil beneath its feet.

???: “H-Hey! Why are you—?!” The voice was high, flustered—not menacing.

Aqua (chanting): “Turn Undead!”

White light erupted from her palms. The lich shrieked—not in rage, but in pain—as its form flickered, edges dissolving.

???: “Ahhh—my body! I’m fading! Please, stop!” Tears streamed down its face.

Historia stepped in—hard—swatting Aqua’s head with the flat of her hand.

Aqua (rubbing her head, wailing): “Whuaaa! Why?!”

Historia (firm): “She didn’t attack us. You don’t just erase someone without cause.”

Chris, Megumin, and Darkness arrived—zombies dispatched, weapons still drawn.

Aqua (pointing): “She’s a lich! We have to purge her!”

Historia: “Or we listen.”

The lich—Wiz—trembled, clutching her robe.

Wiz (voice cracking): “I—I’m not evil. The priests here only bless graves for those who can pay. The poor? Forgotten. Their souls linger… and return. I come every night to guide them—as a queen should. The zombification… it’s accidental. A side effect of my magic.”

Megumin frowned.

Megumin: “So the zombies weren’t the goal.”

Wiz: “No. They’re… collateral.”

Chris’s grip on her dagger tightened—dangerously.

Chris (coldly): “Intentions don’t matter. A lich is a corruption. It has to be removed.”

Darkness shifted, conflicted.

Darkness: “But… if she’s helping them… isn’t that mercy?”

Historia turned to Aqua.

Historia: “You said you can guide souls.”

Aqua (defensive): “Yeah, but—”

Historia: “Then you’ll do it. Every night. No zombies. No side effects.”

Aqua gaped.

Aqua: “Work?! For free?!”

Historia (quiet, unyielding): “You’re part of this team. So far, your contribution has been… limited.”

Aqua wilted.

Then—Historia added, voice softening just enough:

Historia: “I’ll drink with you afterward. As much as you want.”

Aqua’s eyes lit up.

Aqua (immediately): “Deal! …But I still hate liches.”

Wiz bowed deeply, tears drying.

Wiz: “Thank you… Truly.”

As they turned to leave, Chris glanced back—just once.

Her fingers brushed her throat.

A silent promise.

This isn’t over.

Wiz saw it.

Understood.

They walked away—no reward collected, mission failed on paper.

But in the quiet, Historia felt something settle: not victory. Not trust.

But balance.

For now—that was enough.

Days passed quietly in the inn—Historia and Megumin played chess. Megumin won. Repeatedly. Methodically. Historia didn’t mind; she watched the way the arch-wizard’s fingers hovered over pieces, planning three moves ahead, not just one.

Then—the alarm.

Magically amplified, sharp, urgent—ripped through Axel.

Luna’s voice (everywhere): “All adventurers to the main gate! Civilians—shelter now! A Demon General approaches!”

Outside, the air thickened. Adventurers gathered—some steady, most trembling. And there, at the city’s edge, stood Verdia, a Dullahan clad in scorched armor, sword unsheathed, eyes burning.

Verdia (voice like grinding stone): “Who threw Explosions at my castle?! Answer—or I reduce this town to ash.”

Darkness stiffened.

Darkness: “That’s… a Dullahan.”

Historia’s gaze snapped to Aqua—just as the goddess tried to melt into the crowd.

Historia caught her by the collar.

Historia (quiet, lethal): “Was it you?”

Aqua wilted.

Aqua (teary): “Whuaaa—I may have helped Megumin channel her magic… daily…”

The confession hung.

From the rear, Eren froze.

Her.  
The blue-haired girl who’d cast him into that blank void.  
And beside her—the Queen. Historia. Alive. Here.

[Eren: …This world is a joke.]

Verdia’s glare pinned Megumin and Aqua.

Verdia: “Last words?”

Megumin stepped forward—shaking, but chin high.

Megumin: “I am Megumin! Arch-Wizard of the Crimson Magic!”

Verdia (unimpressed): “Is that a pastry?”

Megumin: “I am a Crimson Demon!”

Verdia (sighing): “…Fine. Don’t blow up my castle again. Deal?”

Megumin (earnest): “Impossible. My magic demands release. It is my destiny.”

Verdia stared. Then—grudgingly—laughed.

Verdia: “You’re ridiculous. Seven days. Figure it out. Or I will end you.”

Megumin didn’t flinch.

Megumin: “…Do it.”

Eren moved.

Not out of loyalty. Not out of kindness.

Out of recognition.

The Jaw Titan’s form erupted—not full, just limbs—gray, sinewy, monstrous. A clawed hand shot forth, intercepting Verdia’s descending blade an inch from Megumin’s skull.

Crack.

Verdia skidded back, stunned.

Megumin (staring at the Titan): “A… golem?”

Darkness (breathless): “So violent…”

Then—Historia saw.

The green eyes. The stance. The way the Titan turned—not to attack, but to shield.

Historia (soft, disbelieving): “…Eren.”

He looked down.

Their eyes met.

No fanfare. No dramatic music.

Just two people, impossibly alive, in a world that shouldn’t hold them.

Eren (voice raw, from the Titan’s nape): “You too.”

Historia: “It’s not the same world… but you’re still you.”

He exhaled—once.

Eren: “And you’re still trying to carry everyone.”

No time for more.

Verdia charged—not at Megumin now, but at Historia.

Eren lunged, wrapping her in a Titan’s arm, turning his back to the strike.

Historia (struggling): “Eren—pull back!”

Chris yanked her back.

Chris (sharp): “Don’t touch him. High-tier undead reflect physical damage. You’d die on impact.”

Historia (staring at Eren’s claws): “Then how—?”

Chris (watching the Titan’s hand): “Some powers… don’t play by the rules.”

Verdia halted, studying the bleeding gash on his arm—the only wound that didn’t instantly seal.

Verdia (low, wary): “What are you?”

Eren stepped forward, emerging slightly from the Titan’s nape.

Eren: “The Demon of Paradis. Eren Jaeger.”

Verdia’s lip curled—not in fear. In amusement.

Verdia: “Hmph. Maybe I’ll come back for you. For now—don’t test me again.”

He turned, whistled.

His undead army didn’t follow.

They surged—not toward the gate, but toward Aqua.

She yelped, stumbling back.

Aqua: “Why are they—?! Wait—!”

They didn’t attack.

They knelt. Reached. Wept spectral tears.

Aqua froze—then understood.

Her divine aura—faint, suppressed, but there—was broadcasting one thing to the dead: rest.

Real rest.

Not Wiz’s accidental half-measures.

True release.

Aqua looked at them—at the hollow eyes, the tattered banners, the centuries of waiting.

Then—at Historia.

At Eren.

At Megumin, still trembling but unbroken.

She swallowed.

Raised her hands.

Aqua (quiet, firm): “…Alright. Let’s go.”

And for the first time—not as a goddess demanding worship, but as a guide—she began to chant.

The dead listened.

And for the first time in centuries… hope flickered in Axel.

Eren didn’t hesitate. He stepped halfway out of the Jaw Titan’s nape—not fully, just enough to act—while the undead swarmed toward Aqua, drawn not by malice, but by the faint, desperate pull of her divine essence: rest.

Historia saw the opening instantly.

Historia (sharp, low): “Megumin—now. While they’re focused on her.”

Megumin didn’t need more.

She raised her staff, voice ringing clear above the chaos.

Megumin: “EXPLOSION!”

The blast wasn’t aimed at Verdia. It was placed—a concussive wave, precise, horizontal—to knock the undead off-balance, not obliterate them. They stumbled, disoriented—but alive. Intact.

Verdia lunged—not at Megumin, but at Eren, blade flashing.

The Jaw Titan twisted, claws snapping shut—not to crush, but to grab. It seized Verdia mid-swing, hurled him backward. He crashed into the tree line, armor cracking.

Verdia (scrambling up, furious): “You bastard—!”

Eren (cold, from the Titan’s neck): “Shut up. You’re annoying.”

Then—Eren moved.

The Jaw Titan leapt, not high, but fast, driving Verdia down with brutal, controlled force. Not a smash. A pin. Before Verdia could recover, hardened spikes—bone-white, jagged—erupted from the earth, impaling his limbs, holding him fast.

No theatrics. No roar.

Just efficiency.

Eren (leaning down, voice quiet, dangerous): “How do you want to die?”

Verdia spat blood.

Verdia: “Impossible… defeated by a golem?”

Eren: “You’re not a warrior. You’re a slave. And I hate slaves who pretend they’re free.”

Verdia (snarling): “Who the hell are you calling—?”

Eren bit his hand.

Steam roared.

Not the full Founding Titan. Not even close.

Just the skeleton—massive, skeletal, one arm fused with the Attack Titan’s musculature. It seized Verdia by the torso, slammed him down—once, twice—then hurled him skyward.

He fell.

His head hit the cobblestones with a sickening thud.

Silence.

The undead, stunned by the blast, rose again—not to attack, but to wait.

Aqua stepped forward.

Not with bravado. With solemnity.

She placed her hands on Verdia’s forehead—and on the nearest zombie’s rotting shoulder.

Aqua (soft, clear): “Sanctum Aeternum.”

White light spread—not violent, not punishing. Gentle. Like dawn.

One by one, the undead dissolved—not into ash, but into pale, drifting motes. Verdia’s form flickered, his armor fading, his face softening—not in death, but in release.

Aqua: “Rest now.”

Then—stillness.

Historia approached first. Megumin, then Darkness—still flushed, still buzzing. Chris hung back, watchful.

Eren stood beside his Titan’s fading steam, breathing hard, clothes torn, knuckles split.

Historia (quiet): “Even now… you’re still reckless.”

A pause.

Historia: “…But I’m glad you’re okay.”

Eren (glancing at his healing cuts): “It’s fine. Aqua’s magic isn’t needed.”

Historia (smiling faintly): “Good. No civilians died. That’s… enough.”

Then—eyes meeting, really seeing each other for the first time.

Eren (voice tight): “Historia… It’s really you.”

Historia (nodding): “Yes. I’m here too.”

No grand declarations. No tears.

Just two people standing in the wreckage, realizing they weren’t alone.

Later, away from the crowd, under a sky clearing of smoke:

Historia: “I died the same day you did. Giving birth. I never held her.”

Eren looked down. Said nothing.

Historia (softly): “But in all of it… I never stopped seeing you as my friend. Even when the world called you a monster.”

Eren’s throat worked.

Eren: “I’m sorry. For everything. I wish… I’d had more time. With you. With all of them.”

Historia (hand on his shoulder): “We don’t have to carry that here. Not like before.”

A pause.

Historia: “We can choose differently now.”

Eren exhaled—long, slow.

Not forgiveness. Not absolution.

But acknowledgement.

Eren: “Yeah.”

Around them, Axel breathed again.

Megumin studied Eren’s regenerating hand.

Megumin (blunt): “What are you? Your body… it heals like it’s alive.”

Eren (flat): “I’m not human.”

A beat.

Eren: “I’m the Demon of Paradis. Eren Jaeger.”

No pride. No shame.

Just fact.

Historia looked at him—not with fear.

With resolve.

The past wasn’t gone.

But the future? That was still unwritten.

And for the first time in either of their lives—

they stood in it together.

Eren looked at Historia, eyes shadowed.

Eren: “I’m sorry you didn’t get more time. In our world… I wish it had been different.”

Historia offered a small, steady smile.

Historia: “Don’t dwell on it. Here—I’ve found purpose. A group. Aqua, Darkness, Megumin. We protect this city. As best we can.” She tilted her head. “And you? Where have you been?”

Eren (dryly): “Giant toad hunting. Pays well. Keeps me out of sight.”

Historia laughed—a real, light sound.

Historia: “Still stubborn. Still relentless. Some things never change.”

Eren (glancing toward the tavern): “Aqua’s… here?”

Historia (smirking): “My mistake. I asked for ‘something to help me understand this world.’ Aqua interpreted it… literally.”

Eren (raising an eyebrow): “You chose her?”

Historia: “Ambiguously. And yes—I know she wasn’t thrilled.”

Eren almost smiled.

Then—footsteps.

Aqua bounded over, Megumin and Chris trailing.

Aqua (brightly): “Historia! We need help with—oh.” She blinked at Eren. “You.”

Eren (flat): “You remember sending me here.”

Aqua (nodding): “Of course. I am the goddess of your old world, after all.”

Historia stepped in.

Historia: “Aqua, Darkness, Megumin, Chris—this is Eren. A friend.”

Polite greetings followed—Megumin eager, Chris assessing, Darkness flushed.

Then—Historia extended her hand.

Historia: “Join us. We’re not perfect. But we’re trying. And… we could use you.”

Eren hesitated.

Eren: “I work alone. Less… complications.”

Megumin stepped forward.

Megumin (proudly): “We don’t need you. We handle things our own way.”

Eren arched a brow.

Eren: “Like luring a Demon General into the city… then freezing when he actually showed up?”

Megumin flushed.

Megumin: “I did hit his army with Explosion!”

Eren: “And collapsed immediately after. Do you only know one spell?”

Megumin (defiant): “Explosion is perfection. I’d use it on anyone—even a child—if ordered!”

The air went cold.

Eren’s gaze sharpened—not angry. Disgusted.

Eren (quiet, sharp): “The thing I hate most in this world? Slaves. People who give up their will. You’re no different.”

Megumin paled.

Before she could reply—smack.

Historia’s hand struck Eren’s cheek—firm, not cruel.

Silence.

Eren didn’t flinch. Just turned away.

Historia caught his wrist.

Historia (voice trembling, fierce): “I’m not betraying you. Yes—we’ve seen hell. But I won’t let you hurt anyone else. I may have failed the world… but I’m still your friend.”

Eren went very still.

Then—a sound.

A laugh. Hollow. Broken.

He looked up, eyes raw.

Eren: “I fought to protect Mikasa. Armin. You. To spare you that end.”

Historia (soft, pained): “Then why sacrifice so many?”

Eren: “The Rumbling was the only way. And if she joins your group, you answer for her.”

Historia (exasperated): “Why do you have to be so cold?”

Eren exhaled—long, tired.

Eren: “The weak die. The strong survive. That’s all this world understands.”

Historia stepped back, jaw set.

Then—Eren moved.

A Partial Quadruped Titan limb erupted—not violently, just there—and stomped once.

A controlled burst of air—no fire, no debris. Just pressure.

Eren (calmly): “Explosions aren’t the only way to make an impact.”

Megumin stared. Then—slowly—nodded.

Not agreement.

Acknowledgement.

Historia spoke, quiet but firm.

Historia: “Eren is my friend. I trust him. And we need each other—not as masters and slaves. As people.”

Megumin swallowed.

Megumin (quietly): “…Fine. I’ll try.”

No cheers. No grand acceptance.

Just four women—and one broken, brilliant boy—standing in the dust of a battle, choosing, for the first time, not to walk away.

Historia beamed—genuine, warm. Eren watched, arms crossed, expression tight with restrained frustration. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—snap at her. Not Historia. So he let it go.

His gaze drifted instead to Darkness, hoisting Megumin onto her shoulder with practiced ease. The paladin’s armor gleamed, her posture rigid with duty.

Eren’s stomach twisted.

Policia Militar.

Not the name. The function. Authority. Order. Control. All things that had meant cages, lies, and blood in his world.

Eren (flat): “You’re Military Police, aren’t you?”

Darkness (blinking): “Eh? No—I’m a paladin. We protect people. Adventurers. No… ‘Military Police’ here.”

Her earnestness only deepened his suspicion. Too polished. Too structured.

Yet Darkness didn’t recoil. She leaned in, eyes brightening, cheeks flushing.

Darkness (softly, to herself): “…So rough. So defiant. Thrilling.”

Historia caught the shift.

Historia (gentle but firm): “Eren—don’t judge her by old ghosts. Darkness is loyal. Strong. And yes—peculiar. But she’s ours.”

Darkness stepped forward, hand drifting unconsciously to her chest.

Darkness (voice dropping, breathy): “You’re… interesting, Eren Jaeger.”

Eren (scoffing): “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only here because she asked.”

Darkness (grinning): “Oh, I love a man who pretends he doesn’t care. So harsh… so unyielding… Makes me wonder—how much punishment could you take?”

Eren froze.

Eren: “…What?”

Darkness (innocently): “Training. Sparring. Discipline. I specialize in endurance.”

Before Eren could respond, Historia’s hand shot out—yanked his ear.

Eren (wincing): “Hahn!—Historia!”

Historia (stern): “Enough. Give her a chance.”

She released him. Eren rubbed his ear—then, unexpectedly, let out a low, strange chuckle. Not amusement. Disbelief. At the absurdity. At himself.

Historia took his hand.

Historia: “Enough, Eren.”

He stopped. Exhaled. Looked at Darkness—really looked.

Saw the flush. The tremor in her hands. The want in her eyes—not for power. For surrender.

His lip curled.

Eren: “You called me… sabroso?”

Darkness didn’t deny it.

Darkness (smirking): “Older men have character.”

Chris (dryly, stepping between them): “Darkness. Stop. He’s not a stress ball.”

Darkness (sighing): “Fine. But… having him in the group would be… stimulating.”

Eren turned away—toward the makeshift table where Verdia’s head rested.

Eren: “Enough chatter. We have work.”

In the quiet back room, Verdia’s head glared, defiant.

Eren: “The Demon King’s castle. Location.”

Verdia: “Make me.”

Eren’s fingers twitched—then hardened, bone-white, Partial Jaw Titan forming around his fist.

Verdia (suddenly less smug): “Wait—fine! It’s behind a barrier. Only the Eight Generals sustain it. Kill us all? Barrier falls.”

Eren: “Where?”

Verdia (grudgingly): “North. Beyond the Ashen Peaks. But you’ll never—”

Aqua stepped forward, hand raised.

Aqua (calm, firm): “Hold.”

She placed her palm over Eren’s chest. Light pulsed—soft, silver.

Aqua: “The death curse’s gone. It was clinging to your ribs. Subtle. Nasty.”

Eren exhaled—shoulders loosening, an ache he hadn’t named finally lifting.

Eren (quiet): “…Thanks.”

Aqua nodded—then turned to Verdia.

Aqua: “You gave us what we needed. Now—rest.”

She raised her hagoromo. Not dramatically. Efficiently.

Aqua: “Lux Aeterna.”

White light filled the room—not blinding. Cleansing.

Verdia’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in recognition.

Verdia (voice softening): “…So this is how it ends.”

Aqua raised her hagoromo, light building at its tip.

Aqua (solemn): “Exorcismus Sacrum.”

The beam struck Verdia’s head—clean, silent. No scream. No smoke. Just dissolution—into fine, silver dust, carried away on the evening breeze.

One of the Eight Generals—gone.

Around them, cheers erupted. Adventurers hugged, laughed, wept in relief.

But Eren stood apart.

Not brooding.

Detached.

Then—a sound.

A low, broken chuckle. Not joy. Not triumph. The laugh of a man who’d just realized he’d survived again—by sheer, brutal will.

Aqua frowned.

Aqua (softly): “Eren? You okay?”

Eren (not looking at her): “Fine. I’m here to kill the Demon King. That’s all.”

Aqua’s eyes narrowed. Then—she saw it.

His left ear—flushed red.

She grinned.

Aqua (sweetly): “Oh? Really?”  
She yanked his ear—hard.

Eren (yelping): “Hahn!—Let go!”

Aqua (mocking): “C’mon, liar. Your ear always burns when you lie. Old habit? Secondhand embarrassment? Hmm?”

Eren moved.

Not with Titan strength—just training. Annie’s drill. A swift step, a twist of Aqua’s wrist, a sharp drop—thud—she landed on her back, ankle pinned by his heel.

Eren (calm, cold): “Touch me without permission again, and next time won’t be a lesson.”

He turned.

Eren: “Let’s go, Historia.”

---

At the Guild, celebration raged.

Aqua drank. Historia sipped water—until Aqua, flushed and grinning, pressed a goblet into her hands.

Aqua (slurring): “One sip! For Verdia!”

Historia (resigned): “…Fine.”

Eren watched—jaw tight—as Aqua “helped” Historia finish the entire jug. When Historia coughed, he was there, steadying her, glaring at Aqua.

Eren (low, dangerous): “Leave her alone.”

Aqua (giggling): “Oooh, protective~”

Historia (recovering, curious): “Wait—Verdia was immune to physical attacks. How did your Titan hurt him?”

Aqua waved a hand.

Aqua: “Easy! His powers were adapted here—blessed, basically. Divine-tier exception.”

Eren (nodding): “So my Titans work. Even against the undead.”

Historia (quietly impressed): “…That is an advantage.”

Aqua beamed—then shoved another cup toward Historia.

Eren (snatching it away): “No.”

Aqua (mock-offended): “Ugh. Bitter old man.”

Eren (deadpan): “I’m nineteen.”

Aqua—already three jugs deep—draped herself over Historia, nuzzling her hair.

Aqua (giggling): “Mmm. You smell like sunshine and responsibility~”

Historia flushed. Eren’s eye twitched.

Later, under the moon’s silver glow, Eren stood alone—breathing, thinking.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Historia.

Historia (softly): “You wanted to talk?”

He looked at her—really looked.

Eren: “You’ve… built something good here. With them.”  
A pause.  
“I’m glad you’re safe. You’ve always been kind—even when the world deserved none. I want you to live. Long.”

Historia smiled—warm, sad.

Historia: “Still a crying baby underneath it all, huh?”

He almost laughed.

Then—thump-thump-thump.

Aqua, Megumin, Darkness stumbled out—Aqua clinging to Historia, Darkness swaying toward Eren with heavy-lidded eyes.

Darkness (breathy): “Eren~… if you wanted to punish her… I’m right here…”

Eren (flat): “I’d rather wrestle a rabid boar.”

Darkness shivered.

Eren (to Historia, ignoring her): “Where do you sleep?”

Historia: “Stables. It’s… enough.”

Eren didn’t hesitate.

Eren: “Not anymore. I own property here. With the War Hammer Titan, I can merge them—build a proper house. For all of us.”

Silence.

Aqua (teary-eyed): “You’d… do that?”

Eren (quiet): “Teams protect their own.”

Darkness blinked.

Darkness (dreamily): “One handsome man… five women… under one roof…”

Megumin (suddenly alert): “Explosive living arrangements!”

Eren ignored them.

He walked—not toward the stables.

Toward the empty lots he’d bought months ago.

And as steam rose into the night, the foundations of a new home began to take shape.

ile): “Thank you, Eren. Truly.”

Darkness (clasping her hands): “A real home…”

Eren (shrugging): “Just space. You stay because you’re with the team. Not because I’m generous.”

Aqua opened her mouth—then closed it. Smart move.

They moved in. Cleaned. Claimed rooms.

Aqua flopped onto her four-poster bed with a sigh.

Aqua: “I deserve this.”

Eren (passing her door): “Go to sleep. Tomorrow’s work.”

No grand speeches. Just life. Quiet. Shared.

---

Morning came.

Eren’s eyes were shadowed. He hadn’t slept.

Ymir’s voice still echoed: You’re not a slave anymore. I won’t abandon you.

He pushed it down.

At breakfast, Aqua frowned.

Aqua: “Rough night?”

Eren (stirring tea): “Just dreams.”

Megumin (narrowing her eyes): “Bad ones?”

Eren: “Irrelevant.”

Historia said nothing. Just slid a second cup of tea toward him.

He took it.

No thanks. Just a nod.

Later, Megumin cornered Historia.

Megumin (grinning): “So. You and Eren. What’s the deal?”

Historia flushed.

Historia: “We’re teammates.”

Aqua (mouth full): “He’s exhausting. How do you stand him?”

Eren, nearby sharpening a blade, didn’t look up.

But his grip tightened.

At the Guild, Luna handed them a sealed envelope.

Aqua tore it open.

Stared.

Aqua (voice cracking): “…Three hundred million Er?”

Silence.

Then—

Aqua (grabbing Historia): “WE’RE RICH!”

Eren (dryly): “Verdia had a price on his head. Demon Generals aren’t cheap.”

Darkness (already daydreaming): “So many strong enemies left to face…”

Megumin: “Explosions with budget!”

Historia (practical): “We should plan the next mission.”

Aqua sighed.

Aqua: “…After one drink. One.”

Then—Chris arrived.

Quiet. Still.

Chris: “I’m leaving.”

No drama. Just fact.

Aqua (softly): “Already?”

Chris (nodding): “My path splits here. But… thank you. All of you.”

She looked at each—lingering on Historia, on Eren.

Chris (to Eren): “Fifth member. Don’t let them drag you into too much chaos.”

Eren (meeting her gaze): “No promises.”

Chris smiled—one real, quiet thing—and walked away.

No tears.

Just the weight of a choice made.

And behind her, five people—in a house that hadn’t existed yesterday—watched her go.

Then Aqua yawned.

Aqua: “So. Who’s hungry?”

Days passed since Verdia’s defeat. Winter’s grip loosened; new missions flooded the Guild board.

The team gathered—ready, restless.

Eren watched them. Quietly assessed.

Aqua—already sobbing over a tavern tab.

She flung herself at him, batting her lashes.

Aqua (saccharine): “Erencio~ You look so handsome today! Is that a new shirt?”

Eren (not looking up): “Shut up. What do you want now?”

Aqua (teary): “I may have overspent again—but we’ll earn it back! Right?”

He sighed—then tapped her temple, once. She yelped, toppled backward.

Eren (flat): “I’m here for the Demon King. Not friendship. Not this.”

Aqua (from the floor): “You’re cruel!”

Eren: “And stop calling me ‘Erencio’.”

Aqua (grumbling): “Fine. Hitler.”  
She perked up. “How much did you make before Verdia?”

Eren (dry): “Ten million Er. Not for you.”

Historia winced—guilt tightening her chest. Her wish. Her responsibility.

Darkness, however, shivered, eyes gleaming.

Then—Megumin clapped.

Megumin: “Next mission?”

Darkness (breathless): “Yes—I want to see Eren fight again.”

Eren nodded—just once.

Historia (softly): “Eren… could I borrow some money?”

He didn’t ask why.

Just handed her the pouch.

She turned—to Aqua—and placed it in her hands.

Historia: “Take it. I won’t leave you struggling.”

Aqua’s eyes welled.

Aqua: “Historiaaa… You’re too good.”

Eren watched—not annoyed. Just… observant.

[He’d known her kindness was boundless. But seeing it, here—unbroken, unasked—it settled something in him.]

Aqua dashed off—to pay debts, then straight to the tavern, dragging Historia into laughter and ale.

Eren lingered outside the window, arms crossed.

Not joining.

But not leaving.

Then—Darkness leaned in.

Darkness: “So. You and Historia?”

Megumin (grinning): “Definitely dating.”

Aqua (snorting): “How does she stand him?”

Historia flushed—deep red—words catching in her throat.

Then—Eren appeared beside her.

Eren: “You’ve been quiet. Something wrong?”

Historia (flustered): “N-no! Should we… head back to the mansion?”

Eren (already turning): “No. We have something to do.”  
He shot Aqua a glare.  
“Try not to drink the Guild down, poverty goddess.”

Aqua stuck her tongue out.

He took Historia’s hand—firm, not gentle—and led her away.

She didn’t pull back.

Outside, breathless:

Historia: “Eren, I… I wanted to tell you—”

Eren (cutting in): “Lost the idiots. Now we can do what we’ve needed since day one.”  
He pulled folded parchment from his coat.

Historia (blinking): “Three idiots? And… what’s that?”

Eren (unfurling the plans): “ODM gear schematics. I need someone who actually knows how to build one.”

Her eyes lit up.

Of course.

Not a confession.

A project.

Later, at the smithy—Sam greeted Eren like an old friend.

Sam (grinning): “Brought company? Your friend?”  
He winked at Historia.  
“Stunning.”

Eren (blunt): “Haven’t noticed.”

Historia made a tiny, offended hmph.

Sam chuckled.

They reviewed the blueprints—tweaked gas canister ratios, reinforced grapple lines, adjusted harness weight distribution.

Sam: “5,000 Er each. Total 10,000.”

Eren paid without hesitation.

Walking back, Historia stole glances at him—still sharp-eyed, still guarded.

But no longer alone.

The mansion waited.

Inside—laughter, clinking glasses, Megumin debating Explosive interior design.

Eren paused at the door.

Not to join.

Just to listen.

Then—he stepped inside. 

Eren studied Darkness—arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Eren: “You’re useless in a real fight. Relying only on endurance won’t cut it. You need to learn how to use that sword.”

Darkness’s eyes gleamed.

Darkness (breathless): “Then… train me.”

He didn’t answer. Just plucked her Adventurer Card from her belt—smooth, quiet, practiced.

Eren: “Agree?”

Darkness (grinning): “Try your worst.”

They moved to the training yard outside town. Historia followed, wary.

Eren bit his hand.

The War Hammer Titan’s crystalline spikes erupted—not to kill, but to test. Darkness blocked, staggered, recovered. Swung. Missed. Again. Again.

Darkness (gritting teeth): “I will land a hit!”

Eren (watching, voice low): “Stubborn. Reminds me of someone.”  
A pause.  
“Fine. Next test.”

Steam erupted.

The Colossal Titan’s heat wave rolled forward—oppressive, suffocating.

Darkness didn’t retreat. Stood firm, armor glowing red, sweat beading, breath ragged—but standing.

Historia (shouting): “Eren, stop!”

The steam faded.

Eren stood unharmed. Darkness, battered but upright, grinned through split lips.

Darkness: “Well? Was I… adequate?”

Eren (flat): “You’re weak. But your will’s solid. That’s usable.”

Later, back at the Guild:

Eren (holding her card again—when had he taken it?): “Punch precision is your bottleneck.”

Darkness (reaching): “Hey—! That’s mine—!”

Too late.

He tapped the option.

Megumin (nervous): “Don’t… do that to my card.”

Eren (glancing at her): “Why not?”

Megumin (muttering): “…I like my stats balanced.”

Darkness snatched her card back—then beamed.

Darkness: “You’re so grumpy when you care!”

Eren didn’t deny it.

---

The day the ODM gear arrived, Sam presented the prototypes—blades sharp, harnesses reinforced, gas canisters empty.

Sam: “Followed your schematics exactly. But… you forgot the gas specs, didn’t you?”

Historia stifled a laugh.

Historia: “Why didn’t you build one sooner?”

Eren (shrugging): “Didn’t need it. My Titans handled threats. But you… you need tools. I remembered the look. Not all the… engineering.”

Historia (smiling): “Well—I’ve been learning too. Thievery. Basic spells.”

Eren (quietly): “Good. You should be strong.”  
Then—his jaw tightened. Eyes darkened. The memory flashed—toads, rage, loss of control.

Sam noticed. So did Historia.

Sam: “You alright, kid?”

Eren (sharp): “I said it’s nothing.”

Historia flinched.

Silence.

Then—Eren froze.

He’d yelled. At her.

Before he could speak—she stepped forward.

Wrapped her arms around him.

No words. Just warmth. Steady. There.

He didn’t pull away.

Couldn’t.

After a long moment, they separated.

Historia (soft, firm): “I’m not leaving you. Ever. Enemies of humanity or not—I’m your ally.”

Eren (voice rough): “…Yeah. We start over. Here.”

They left the shop—ODM frames useless, but blades intact.

Aqua, leaning against a wall, smirked.

Aqua: “Wow. The Eren Jaeger—defeated by physics.”

Eren grunted.

But that afternoon, in the training yard, he stood beside Megumin—calm, focused—as she practiced target throws. Darkness sparred nearby, landing actual hits.

Historia watched. 

Eren took a breath—deliberate, quiet—before speaking.

Eren: “The Jaw Titan gives speed. Precision. But it’s not the only one.”  
He met Megumin’s wide eyes.  
“Nine forms. Each with a purpose.”

Darkness leaned in, intrigued.

Darkness: “Dragons are often the test for such power. Ancient. Proud. They don’t fall easily.”

Eren (nodding): “One form regenerates faster than injuries form. Another manipulates crystal—hardens flesh, shapes defenses.”

Megumin and Darkness exchanged glances—less awe, more assessment.

Later, at the Guild, Luna motioned Eren over.

Luna (smiling): “A national commendation is being prepared—”

Eren (flat): “I don’t care.”

She blinked—then pressed on.

Luna: “There’s… another matter. A dragon. Near the Ashen Peaks. It’s razing villages. And it’s not alone—beasts follow it. Like a warlord.”

Eren: “If it threatens innocents—I’ll take it.”

No hesitation.

Not for glory.

For her.

For the promise he’d made—to the girl who’d chosen mercy, even when the world gave her none.

Back with the group:

Eren: “Mission: hunt a dragon.”

Aqua (sputtering): “What?! Historia’s the leader!”

Darkness (already trembling): “Dragons… fire, flight, scales…”

Eren (focused): “It exhales gas before igniting it. Right?”

Aqua (nodding): “Yes—sparks on contact. Boom.”

Historia (eyes lighting up): “Eren…”

Eren (quietly): “We get the gas. Fix the ODM gear. And stop it.”

No grand speech.

Just necessity.

---

Winter had settled.

Snow crunched underfoot as they camped. Aqua drank—cheeks flushed, laughter loud. Historia watched, smiling faintly.

Aqua (slurring): “To dragons! And not dying!”

Megumin: “Where is it?”

Eren (standing): “Enough rest. Move.”

Aqua (grinning): “So bossy, Erencio~”

Eren (not looking back): “Shut up.”

Then—a roar.

Not distant.

Behind them.

Historia (tense): “It’s here.”

Eren (already reaching for his knife): “I’ve got it.”

He slashed his palm.

Lightning.

Steam.

The Armored Titan rose—fifteen meters of hardened muscle and bone, stance low, ready.

Aqua shivered.

Aqua: “He really is terrifying…”

Darkness exhaled—sharp, thrilled.

Darkness: “Perfect.”

The dragon emerged—black scales, eyes like molten iron, jaws parting to exhale.

Eren didn’t wait.

The Titan lunged—not to kill. To interrupt. One hand clamped the dragon’s snout; the other shoved a reinforced canister deep into its throat.

Click.

The gas flooded in.

For a second—nothing.

Then—BOOM.

The canister detonated inside the dragon’s mouth, shattering teeth, blasting the cylinder skyward.

Inside the Titan, Eren clenched his fists.

[Not like the toads. Not rage. Control.]  
[She’s watching. I won’t fail her again.]

The dragon reared—blood streaming, fury blazing.

Around them—movement.

White-furred rabbits. Bloodshot eyes. Hunting packs.  
Dire hounds, jaws dripping.

Historia moved—two swords flashing, clean, efficient. No hesitation.

[I chose this. To stand beside him. To live—not just survive.]

Darkness charged the rabbits, shield raised—not to kill, but to draw.

Megumin raised her staff.

Megumin: “EXPLOSION—!”

The Armored Titan seized the dragon’s head—slammed it down.

Crack.

But the dragon twisted—claws raking, shearing clean through the Titan’s left arm in a spray of steam and blood.

Eren staggered.

[Gas ignition confirmed. Volatile. Direct containment failed.]  
[Next option: crystallize the throat. Or War Hammer—reshape the muzzle. Seal it.]

Historia moved—blades flashing—cutting through the hounds with brutal efficiency. No flourish. Just ends.

Eren, inside the Armored Titan, jammed a reinforced funnel into the dragon’s maw.

It roared—gas surged—fire erupted.

The Titan braced.

Flames washed over the hardened plates—steam hissing, but the structure held.

Aqua (staring): “What are you…?”

Historia (calm, sharp): “Don’t call him that. And focus.”

The dragon reared again.

Eren didn’t hesitate.

Crystalline spikes erupted—impaling its limbs. Then—a massive War Hammer formed in the Titan’s grip, swung not to crush, but to control. It pinned the beast’s head.

One final motion.

A crystalline blade—forged mid-strike—sliced.

The dragon’s head hit the snow.

Silent.

Then—the rest.

Historia finished the hounds.

Aqua, surprisingly effective, used light pulses to disorient stragglers.

Darkness, meanwhile, danced—with intent, not skill—around the white rabbits, shield raised, never landing a blow, but drawing them away.

Eren finished the job.

Hardened spikes—impaled the pack.

Megumin, already on her back, gasped.

Historia: “Megumin—now!”

Megumin (weak but grinning): “EXPLOSION!”

The blast tore through the pinned rabbits—clean, contained.

When the smoke cleared—only a crater remained.

Eren disengaged.

Steam curled.

He walked—straight to Megumin—hoisted her onto his back without a word.

She blinked.

Megumin: “You… carried me?”

Eren (steady, walking): “Innocents don’t die on my watch.”

Historia watched—shoulders easing, just slightly.

Historia: “The fight’s over. No one’s hurt. That’s enough.”

Aqua (puffing chest): “Of course we won! I am a goddess—”

Darkness (softly, to Eren): “Did you… enjoy helping me?”

Eren didn’t answer.

Just kept walking.

Later, in the inn, Eren slept.

And dreamed.

Darkness. Blood. Bone.

And then—a voice.

“Eren…”

He turned.

Carla.

Not as he remembered her broken. But whole. Warm. Sad.

Carla: “You chose wrong paths to protect what you loved. That doesn’t make you unworthy of love.”

He fell to his knees.

Eren (choked): “Don’t go. Please—I can’t—”

Carla (smiling, fading): “I’m always with you. Protect them. Live.”

He woke—hand pressed to his chest.

Not relief.

Resolve.

Eren (whispering): “I’ll protect her. This time—I will.”

---

Miles away—frost clinging to pine branches—a man stood at the forest’s edge.

Blond. Lean. Golden eyes sharp as flint.

Porco Galliard.

He watched the distant glow of Axel’s lights—cold, calculating.

Porco (quietly): “Too soon. Let them play hero a little longer.” 

Another day at the mansion.

Aqua (brightly): “Got a lake-purification job! Easy, right?”

Turns out—not.

The lake was infested with giant crocodiles. So they’d locked Aqua in a steel cage before she entered.

Darkness (watching the circling predators, breath quickening): “Eren’s glare… it’s like he enjoys my suffering…”

Megumin (already chanting under her breath): “Can I explode the cage? Can I?”

Historia (worried): “Aqua’s in there alone—”

Eren (flat): “If she dies, I lose my purification specialist. So—no. She lives.”

Inside the cage, Aqua froze.

Aqua (panicked, waving): “Erencio! Geography emergency!”

Eren (pinching bridge of nose): “I’d kill her—if she weren’t useful.”

Historia (sharp): “Don’t.”

Megumin (earnest): “Crimson Demons don’t need bathrooms.”

Darkness (nodding): “Paladins transcend bodily functions.”

Historia (deadpan): “Next mission: no bathroom breaks. Twelve hours.”

Eren glanced at her—then, unexpectedly, smirked.

Eren: “You’re getting soft.”

Historia flushed deep red, stammering, flustered—hands flapping.

Eren didn’t laugh. Just watched, something warm flickering in his eyes.

Eren (softly): “It suits you.”

She looked away, hiding a smile.

Then—ripples.

Monsters surged from the depths—sleek, scaled, jaws wide.

Aqua (screaming, shaking cage): “PURIFICATION! PURIFICATION! PURIFICATION!”

Eren moved.

Knifed his palm.

The Jaw Titan erupted—black-maned, armored-plated—and intercepted.

One swing of its claws—shredded the lead beast.

Aqua (teary, awed): “Th-thank you, Eren!”

Historia (pulling her out): “Not the time, Aqua.”

More monsters came.

The Titan didn’t hesitate.

Leapt. Slashed. Crushed.

Inside, Eren’s pulse roared.

[Kill them all. Every last one.]

Then—silence.

The lake gleamed—clear, pure.

Aqua sat in the cage, hollow-eyed.

Aqua (quietly): “This is my kingdom now.”

Historia (gentle): “Let’s go home.”

Eren (already walking): “We’re done.”

---

On the road back, whispers followed them—“Monster.” “Titan.” “Demon.”

Eren ignored them.

Historia slipped her hand into his.

Historia (soft): “I feel safe with you.”

He didn’t pull away.

Then—a roar.

A Titan—Jaw, but armored, familiar in its stance—landed ahead.

A figure emerged from its nape: blond, sharp-eyed, jaw set.

Porco (voice tight): “goodness Aqua. What are you doing here?”

Aqua blinked.

Aqua: “goodness? Me?”

Eren (cold, quiet): “Porco.”

Recognition—like a blade drawn.

Porco’s gaze snapped to Historia.

Porco (low, dangerous): “Queen. And you—the Butcher of Marley.”

Historia (stepping forward, calm): “It was an accident. And she’s happy here.”

Porco: “You dragged a goddess into this world?!”

Historia (meeting his eyes): “Mistake or not—I won’t let you hurt her. Or him.” 

Historia (soft, resolute): “Yes—I was queen there. But here? We’re given a second chance. The past doesn’t own us.”

Porco stepped in front of Eren—blocking his path.

Eren’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled. Every instinct screamed: remove the obstacle.

Historia moved—placed herself between them.

Historia (quiet, to Aqua): “I won’t let you stay like this.”

Then—to Porco:

Historia: “Misunderstandings hurt. But this world is new. We can choose differently.”

Porco’s gaze flickered—not anger now. Grief.

Porco: “She re-embodied me. Gave me this Titan… and yet—I see her like this.”

Aqua cowered behind Historia, trembling.

Porco (voice low, bitter): “Eren Jaeger. The man who burned Marley. Who let the Rumbling fall.”

Eren (cold, flat): “The Demon of Paradis. Yes.”

Tension coiled—tight, dangerous.

Then—Historia again.

Historia (to Porco, gentle but firm): “Ymir’s memories are in you. I know you feel them.”

Porco froze.

[—Sunlight through the forest. Ymir’s laugh. The weight of her hand on his shoulder.—]

His fists unclenched.

Porco (hoarse): “I should hate you… but her memories won’t let me.”

Eren exhaled—sharp.

Eren (to Historia): “I don’t trust him. But… as you wish.”

He turned to Porco—eyes like ice.

Eren: “Leave. Now. Or I will end you.”

Porco hesitated—then bowed stiffly.

Porco: “If our paths cross again… I won’t hold back.”

Eren (already walking away): “Good.”

As Porco turned, two women—Fio and Chemere—rushed forward, scowling.

Fio: “You monster—how dare you—!”

Eren didn’t speak.

Just looked.

One glance—pure, unfiltered intent.

They paled.

Chemere (whispering): “Run.”

And they did.

---

Later, at the Guild, Aqua sulked over her ledger.

Aqua (muttering): “Paid three times market rate for cage repairs… emotional distress fees… he actually agreed…”

Historia smiled faintly.

Historia: “He cares. In his own way.”

Eren sat alone on the rooftop—moonlight silver on his shoulders.

[Mama… I’m not the boy who wanted to burn the world anymore. But what if I still break everything—just differently?]

A hand touched his.

He looked up.

Historia—settling beside him, close but not crowding.

Historia: “You’ve changed. You protect now.”

Eren (quiet): “I failed them all. Hanji. Erwin. Marco. So many…”

Historia (leaning in): “Then let’s live long enough to not fail. Together. No regrets. Just time.”

Her head drifted to his shoulder.

Fell asleep.

Eren didn’t move.

Just watched her—moonlight catching the gold in her hair.

Slowly, carefully—he reached out.

Touched a strand.

Soft. Real.

Eren (barely a whisper): “…Adorable.” 

Days passed since the dragon.

More missions. More quiet walks home.

Eren no longer saw them as expendable.

Just… there. Part of the equation. Not tools. People.

Now, on the street toward the apothecary:

Historia: “We should’ve bought better gear before the dragon.”

Aqua (waving a hand): “We won—what’s the point?”

Eren (dry): “You didn’t fight. Historia and I did.”

Aqua (sheepish): “…True.”

Historia (smirking): “And you still brag about it.”

Eren (serious now): “Get stronger. I won’t always be here to keep you from being trampled.”

Aqua puffed up.

Aqua: “With Historia leading and you as our ‘star player’? We’re unbeatable.”

Eren: “What happens when I’m not around?”

Silence.

Megumin and Darkness exchanged glances.

Megumin: “Wait—you’re leaving?”

Eren (sighing): “No. I’m saying—be ready.”

Darkness flushed.

Darkness (breathy): “No one’s as cruel as you… It’s perfect.”

Eren (deadpan): “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Darkness (whimpering): “Refusing to embarrass myself is the real perversion.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Eren: “I’ll throw you into a troll pit.”

Darkness (grinning): “Yes. Harder.”

Eren: “You’re hopeless.”

Aqua (grinning): “Says the guy blushing right now.”

Eren (flat): “Keep talking. I’ll leave you bleeding. You’ll survive—but you’ll regret it.”

At the shop door, he turned.

Eren (to Aqua): “No tantrums. Behave.”

Aqua (indignant): “I’m a goddess—not some common thief!”

He rolled his eyes—entered.

Inside, the shopkeeper turned.

Wiz—hood down, gentle smile.

Wiz: “Eren. I’ve heard you joined Historia’s group.”

Historia quickly explained—Wiz’s past, her mercy, her quiet guardianship of the dead.

Eren listened. Nodded.

No suspicion.

Just… respect.

Eren: “Mana potions for Megumin. Three.”

Wiz: “250,000 each.”

Eren (without flinching): “Fine.”

Eren: “Also—a cursed blade. One that kills undead, even without Aqua nearby.”

Wiz (nodding): “I have one. Forged in a lich’s forge.”

Total: 750,000 Er.

A heavy pause.

Eren’s gaze slid to Aqua—silent, pointed.

She looked away, whistling.

Then—achoo.

Historia sneezed.

Small. Soft.

Eren’s stern expression melted—just for a second—into something almost warm.

[She’s beautiful. When did that…?]

He caught himself—too late.

Historia noticed. Blushed.

Aqua, misreading everything, clutched her chest.

Aqua (dramatic whisper): “Such perverted eyes…!”

Darkness (sighing dreamily): “Ah—if only he looked at me like that…”

Eren (rubbing his temples): “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”

Aqua (teasing): “A genocidal lunatic.”

Eren (walking out, tossing coins over his shoulder): “And you’re still alive. Proof the gods have terrible taste.”

Wiz caught the payment, smiling faintly.

Wiz (to Historia): “He’s… kinder than they say.”

Historia watched Eren’s back—already striding toward the Guild, shoulders straight, but no longer rigid.

Just… walking home.

She smiled.

“Yes,” she murmured. “He is.” 

At the Guild, they met Dust’s team.

Dust (grinning, bowing to Historia): “Miss Historia—lovely as ever.”

Historia (smiling): “Likewise. Just grabbing a mission.”

Dust’s smirk widened as his gaze slid to Eren.

Dust (teasing): “A full harem, Yeager? Lucky man. Especially with her—truly goddess-tier. I’d—”

Eren (cutting in, voice glacial): “Touch her, and I’ll peel your skin off with my teeth.”

Dust laughed—careful, respectful.

Dust: “Relax. Just a joke. Though… trade teams for a day? See how they fare without you?”

Eren considered it—cold, calculating.

Eren: “Fine. One day. And if you breathe wrong near her—”

Dust (holding up hands): “Understood.”

He turned to the girls.

Eren: “You’re with Dust today.”

Darkness gasped.

Darkness: “But who’ll punish me? Who’ll look at me like that?”

Eren (flat): “I never did any of that.”

He glanced at Historia.

Eren (softer): “Any objections?”

Historia (gentle, smiling): “None. Though… I’ll miss you.”

He almost smiled back.

Eren: “It’s just a day, bonita.”

[Since when do I say things like that…?]  
[Since her.]

Megumin wilted.

Megumin: “So… you’re leaving us?”

Eren (sighing): “Training. A test. I’ll be back.”

Historia: “Promise?”

Eren (meeting her eyes): “I promise.”

—

Dust’s team—Kate, Taylor, Lin—greeted Eren with nervous enthusiasm.

Lin (trying to lighten the mood, making a silly face): “Come on, smile!”

Eren didn’t.

Just kept walking—hands in pockets, gaze distant.

Until Lin bumped into his back.

Lin (flustered): “What’s with you?!”

Eren (without turning): “Either you’re useless… or you’re not. Prove it.”

At the counter, Luna raised an eyebrow.

Luna (amused): “Dust’s team? With you?”

Eren (nodding, monotone): “Temporary.”

She handed them a request.

Luna: “Tiger in the northern hills. Aggressive. Fast.”

Eren: “We’ll take it.”

Luna (smiling): “I trust you’ll handle it.”

He stood—tall, still, the sunlight catching the bronze in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw.

Eren: “Every enemy will fall. None will remain.”

No boast.

Just fact.

As they left, Luna watched him go—thoughtful.

He’s not what they say he is.  
He’s worse.  
And better.

Up in the mountains, the hunt began.

Not with rage.

Not with spectacle.

Just efficiency.

One Titan form at a time.

The Jaw—speed.  
The War Hammer—control.  
The Colossal—pressure.  

Monsters fell.  
Silently.  
Quickly.

Eren didn’t roar.

Didn’t gloat.

Just advanced.

[One day.]  
[Then I go back to her.]

Eren’s temporary team trudged up the mountain path—Lynn and Taylor buzzing with questions, Keith trailing quietly.

Lynn (grinning): “So—got a girlfriend?”

Eren (not looking at her): “No. And no interest.”

Lynn (teasing): “Really? Someone like you—someone must’ve caught your eye.”

He hesitated—just half a second.

Lynn (perking up): “Who?!”

Eren said nothing. Just kept walking.

Taylor laughed.

Taylor: “You’re like a statue! Cold. Mysterious.”

Eren (quietly): “I’m just here to make sure they survive.”

No elaboration.

No pride.

Just duty.

At the ridge, Lynn grabbed his hand—playful, curious.

Lynn: “What’re these?” She tapped his ODM blades.

Eren (sighing, glancing at the sky): “Backup. Titans drain me. Blades don’t.”

Then—unexpectedly—he smiled.

Small. Brief.

Lynn blushed.

Lynn: “Why that smile?”

Eren: “Nothing. Just… you remind me of people I used to train with.”  
A pause.  
“Good people.”

Lynn (softly): “Were you a knight?”

Eren (shaking head): “Forget it. Sorry for troubling you… bonita.”

The ground trembled.

Bushes rustled.

Manticores. Carnivorous rabbits. Then—crack—the earth split.

A white tiger—black-striped, massive—lunged.

Eren shoved Lynn clear.

Didn’t dodge fast enough.

Teeth closed.

His legs—gone.

Lynn screamed.

Keith froze.

Taylor raised his sword—

Then—lightning.

A deafening crack.

Steam erupted.

From the haze rose the Attack Titan—15 meters, green eyes burning, stance low.

The heat flash-scorched the nearest beasts.

Inside, Eren’s pulse was steady.

[Not again. Not like them.]

He gestured—go. Take the weak ones.

Keith nodded. They moved.

The Titan turned.

Faced the tiger.

Roared.

The beast roared back.

No hesitation.

Eren lunged.

—

Meanwhile, near Axel, Dust’s temporary team “trained.”

Dust (to Historia, grinning): “Cute group. Though… you’re way out of their league.”

Historia (frowning): “I’m worried about Eren.”

Dust (winking): “Relax! I’m the one who told him about Sam—the smith.”

Historia (relieved): “Oh. So you know him well?”

Dust (misreading everything): “Yeah! Almost friends! Wait—you’re not his girlfriend?!”

Historia’s face flamed.

Historia: “Eh?! N-No! I—!”

She stomped—hard—on Dust’s foot.

He howled.

Dust (hopping): “My leg! Okay, okay—no more romance talk!”

A rustle.

A tiger—smaller, but vicious—emerged.

Darkness gasped.

Darkness (trembling, delighted): “Throw me into its mouth! Let it claim me!”

Dust (horrified): “Absolutely not!”

Megumin (staff raised): “EXPLOSION—”

Historia (sharp): “Megumin—wait! I have a plan!”

She stepped forward—calm, focused.

Not a queen.

Not a goddess.

Just Historia.

The battle ended.

The Attack Titan stood over the shattered remains of the tiger—breathing hard, steam rising in thick plumes. Eren, inside, wrestled with the old fire—the memory of Carla’s scream, of walls collapsing, of friends falling one by one.

[Kill them all. Erase everything that dares take—]

Then—a breath.

A name.

Historia.

He exhaled.

The rage receded—like a tide pulling back from the shore.

The Titan dissolved. Eren stepped out, unharmed, eyes marked but steady.

Eren (to Keith, Lynn, Taylor): “We’re done. Let’s go.”

No boast. No gloating.

Just exhaustion—clean, not poisoned.

---

Back in Axel, the teams reunited.

Dust groaned, slumped against a wall.

Dust (to Eren, grumbling): “Never again. Your girls are insane.”

Eren (already turning away): “Historia kept you alive. That’s all that matters.”

Dust (calling after him): “Next time, I’m asking her on a date—!”

Eren didn’t stop.

Didn’t answer.

Just walked—straight to Historia.

She saw him—and smiled.

Not relief.

Recognition.

He looked… lighter.

Later, in the mansion, she cut his hair—quiet, careful strokes. The long strands fell, revealing the sharp line of his jaw, the green eyes no longer shadowed by fringe.

Historia (softly): “You look… you again.”

Eren: “Feels better.”  
A pause.  
“If we defeat the Demon King… they said we get one wish.”

Historia: “Then… we go home.”

Eren (meeting her eyes): “Not just home. Together.”

She flushed—deep, warm.

Then—he pulled her close.

No declaration.

Just arms around her.

Warmth.

Silence.

When they parted, her cheeks were still pink.

Historia (whispering): “You’re… special to me too, Eren.”

---

At the Guild the next day, Luna blinked.

Luna (smiling): “Eren—you look good.”

Eren (shrugging): “Historia trimmed it.”

Luna (teasingly): “Lucky her.”

Darkness swooned.

Darkness: “Use me as a shield—break me—”

Eren (deadpan): “I’ll assign you to carry the lumber. See how far your fantasies get you.”

Aqua (grinning): “After work—drinks?”

Eren (nodding): “If you actually work.”

Outside Axel, under the punishing sun, the construction site buzzed with activity—though few adventurers had signed up for the grueling labor.

Eren swung his pickaxe—steady, relentless—shattering rock after rock. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he didn’t complain. Just worked.

Then—a voice.

Sasha (handing him a chilled drink): “Hydrate, idiot.”

He turned.

Her.

Blonde hair, freckles, that look—like she was already planning to steal his lunch.

Eren (quiet, disbelieving): “…Sasha.”

Sasha (grinning): “Told ya I’d find the good eats in the next life.”

They talked—briefly, honestly.

He told her: the Rumbling. The eighty percent. The guilt, sharp as ever.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t condemn.

Sasha (softly): “My family’s alive. That’s something.”  
A pause.  
“Still… save me a serving of roast pork at dinner?”

He almost smiled.

Eren: “Only if you don’t steal it first.”

Work resumed.

Then—movement at the edge of the site.

Porco.

Eren didn’t tense. Just nodded.

Eren: “Not here to fight.”

Porco (gruff): “Yeah. Same.”

A beat.

Then—Eren laughed. Not mocking. Relieved.

Porco blinked—then chuckled, rough but real.

Porco: “You really changed, huh?”

Eren: “Turns out… saving people is harder—and better—than burning the world down.”

Historia arrived then—tray in hand, sunlight catching in her hair like gold thread.

Porco went very still.

[What—? That warmth… Ymir’s voice, Ymir’s smile…]

Historia (to Eren, gentle): “You’re pushing too hard. Rest.”

Eren (taking the water, eyes on her): “Thanks.”

Porco (quietly, to no one): “Don’t waste her.”

Eren’s gaze snapped to him—sharp, possessive.

Eren: “Don’t look at her like that.”

Porco (grinning, unrepentant): “Jealous? Good. Means you see her.”

Historia, unaware of the undercurrent, beamed.

Historia: “You’re both here. Talking. Not fighting. That’s… wonderful.”

Then—her voice cracked.

Tears traced her cheeks, but she was smiling.

Historia: “Even if the whole world turns against you… I’m yours, Eren. Always.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Just took her hand.

Held it.

And for the first time in two lifetimes—he let himself believe it.

---

Later, at the Guild, Historia made her announcement.

Historia (clear, firm): “Eren will lead us now. His judgment—his strength—we need it.”

Aqua huffed.

Megumin pouted.

Darkness? Preened.

Eren accepted—not with pride, but duty.

He warned Aqua about money.

She waved him off, already halfway to the tavern.

He urged Megumin to diversify her spells.

Megumin (earnest): “But Explosion is perfection.”

He sighed.

Darkness sidled closer.

Darkness (breathy): “A leader’s commands… how thrilling…”

Eren (flat): “Stay ten paces back. Always.”

She sighed—half-disappointed, half-aroused.

At Wiz’s shop, the transaction was quiet, efficient.

Then—an old man entered.

Elder: “Wiz… the mansion on the hill. Spirits. We need help.”

Wiz nodded.

Eren lingered—just a second—before stepping out into the sun.

Not suspicious.

Just aware.

This world offered peace.

But peace, he knew, was never free.

And he’d earned the right to protect it.

Inside the dim Guild hall, the team gathered to plan the Kele Dungeon dive.

Megumin (serious): “Explosion in tunnels? Bad idea. Very bad idea.”

Eren (nodding): “My Titans are useless underground. And I can’t see in the dark.”

Darkness (cheerfully): “Same! Total blackout for me.”

Aqua straightened—smug, radiant.

Aqua: “Please. Darkness? It’s like noon in here—for me.”

Eren and Historia exchanged glances.

Historia: “Then… tell us everything you can do.”

Aqua beamed.

Aqua: “Right! One: night vision. Two: water purification—drink, bathe, doesn’t matter. Three: minor healing. Four: spirit communication. Five: prophetic dreams. Six: divine barriers against curses and demons.”

Eren (impressed, despite himself): “You’ve got tools. You just… don’t use them.”

Aqua (defensive): “I do! I purified Verdia! And Wiz’s zombies!”

Megumin (leaning in): “You said… explosions?”

Aqua (grinning): “Divine ones! Not destructive—purifying. Clears corruption. No rubble. Just… peace.”

Megumin (sighing dreamily): “…It’s not Explosive Magic… but I respect it.”

—

Deep in Kele, darkness swallowed the passage.

Only Aqua and Historia moved with ease—Historia’s newfound Tiro Perfecto piercing the gloom, Aqua’s divine sight unwavering.

They disarmed traps. Dispatched shambling undead—efficient, quiet.

Then—a figure emerged.

Tattered black robes. Skeletal face. Gentle eyes.

Eren (stepping forward, voice low): “You’re not the puppeteer behind the constructs. A lich—but not hostile. Who are you?”

Keele (bowing slightly): “Keele. Once a mage of the Kingdom. Now… keeper of my beloved’s rest.”  
He gestured to a draped figure beside him—delicate bones, a crown of dried flowers.  
“Her clavicles are exquisite, aren’t they?”

Historia elbowed Aqua hard.

Historia (hushed): “Be nice.”

Keele (softly): “I ask one thing, Archpriestess: purify me. Let me join her.”

Aqua’s smirk faded.

She stepped forward—not as a performer, but as a priest.

Aqua (solemn, hands glowing): “Archmage Keele. You turned from the Light to preserve love. That is not malice. That is longing.”  
Her voice softened.  
“Go. Find her. In the next life—be human together.”

Light bloomed.

Keele smiled—warm, weary—and dissolved.

No fanfare.

Just grace.

They took only what the dungeon could spare—enough for gear, for healing, for living.

Historia (quietly, to Aqua): “You did well.”

Aqua (smiling faintly): “Turns out… mercy is a skill.”

—

Back at the Guild, Eren stood apart—still watched by wary eyes. Old labels died hard.

Wiz approached, amused.

Wiz: “Heard you cleared the mansion.”

Eren: “Ghosts. Why so many?”

Wiz (shrugging): “Cemetery nearby. Someone sealed it—funneled spirits toward the house instead.”

Eren (narrowing his eyes): “Someone.”

Wiz (grinning): “Let’s just say… I have a new home now. And no more commute.”

Eren exhaled.

Not guilt.

Relief.

Then—Darkness sidled up.

Darkness (breathy): “After such toil… a strong man deserves rest…”

Eren (blunt): “Sleep’s good. Recharges stamina.”

Aqua snorted.

Aqua (to Darkness): “Try words, sweetie. He’s immune to subtext.”

Darkness (pouting): “But the tension is delicious…”

Eren ignored her—already scanning the mission board.