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It had been hours since Carla's ultimatum, a fragile truce built on the quicksand of a mother's fear and a son's desperate resolve. Sunset had long since dissolved to nighttime. The only sounds were the pop and crackle of the dying fire and the soft, rhythmic scratch of Mikasa's whetstone as she sharpened her knife for the third time that evening. It was a sound of preparation, a quiet anthem for the storm she knew was coming.
Eren sat on his pallet, back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. He wasn't sleeping. He couldn't really. His gaze was fixed on his mother. Carla had finally succumbed to exhaustion, her head resting on the mattress where her wheelchair sat beside her, a half-mended shirt still clutched in her hand. The firelight danced over her face, smoothing out the lines of worry, making her look young, and in that vulnerability, utterly breakable. Each soft, even breath she took was a hammer blow against Eren's resolve.
The Omnitrix felt like a brand on his wrist, a cold, metallic conscience. He traced the familiar shape through the bandage. Another one. The words echoed in his head, a relentless mantra. Another monster, not from a nightmare in a watch, but from the cold, infinite void called 'space'. A weapon, Armin's grandfather had called it. Unstable. Unpredictable. And the military… they were walking into a slaughter with butter knives.
He could almost picture the gruesome detail; the chaos of the training ground, the sight of panicked civilians trying to escape as fast as they could, the brave soldiers trying to hold a line against something that could walk through walls.
And he saw himself, here, in the dust. Safe.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow. His breath hitched. This wasn't a choice anymore; it was a gravitational pull. To stay was to be complicit in the deaths of everyone who went to face that thing unprepared. The weight of it was crushing him, pressing the air from his lungs.
He looked at Mikasa. Her grey eyes met his over the flickering flame. No words passed between them. He saw no judgment there, no plea, only a quiet, absolute readiness. She had made her choice the moment he had. She was his anchor, but she would not be his chain.
It was time.
With a slow, deliberate exhale, Eren uncoiled himself from the pallet. The floorboards, old and weary, creaked under his weight. He froze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He watched his mother, waiting for her to stir, to open her eyes and shatter this terrible, silent momentum with a single, heartbroken word.
She didn't move.
He took one step, then another, moving with a painstaking slowness that was its own kind of agony. Each step felt like a betrayal, a nail in the coffin of his mother's peace. He was leaving a part of himself here, in this dusty shack, with the sleeping woman who had given him everything.
He reached the door, his hand hovering over the rough wood. This was the point of no return. On the other side was the cold night, the unknown, and the crushing responsibility he both feared and embraced. On this side…was his mother's love, her trust, the last vestiges of his childhood.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't just leave her like this, without a word. It was too cruel.
Turning, he crept to the small, rickety table where a stub of a pencil and a scrap of salvaged paper lay. His hand trembled as he wrote, the letters clumsy and rushed.
Mom,
I'm sorry. I have to. I can't let people die when I can do something. I'll be careful. I promise. I love you.
-Eren
He left the note propped against a cup, a pitiful, inadequate defense against the tsunami of worry he was about to unleash. It felt like leaving a pebble to stop an avalanche.
He looked at Mikasa and nodded once, a sharp, final gesture.
She rose without a sound, her movements fluid and silent as a shadow. She didn't look at Carla. She couldn't afford to. She simply joined him at the door.
Eren took one last, long look at his mother's sleeping form, memorizing the peaceful curve of her cheek, the way her hair fell across her forehead. A hot, sharp pain lanced through his chest.
I'm so sorry.
Then, he turned the latch.
The door opened with a soft, sighing creak. The cold night air rushed in, a shock to his system. He and Mikasa slipped through the narrow opening and pulled it shut behind them, the click of the latch sounding as loud as a cannon shot in the silent night.
The refugee camp had become a landscape of shadows and despair, the pathways between shacks and tents like dark, winding rivers. They moved quickly, keeping to the deepest pools of darkness, their footsteps light on the hard-packed earth. Every distant voice, every cough from behind a canvas wall, made Eren's heart lurch. He felt exposed, like a criminal in his own 'home'.
They reached the slightly more secluded shack where Grandpa Arlet and Armin stayed. The windows were dark. Eren didn't dare knock on the door. Instead, he moved to the side, to Armin's window. He tapped on the grimy glass, a soft, rapid tap-tap-tap.
Nothing.
He did it again, harder, his knuckles stinging.
A moment later, a pale, sleep-rumpled face appeared behind the glass. Armin's eyes were bleary, then wide with confusion, then sharp with instant understanding as he saw their tense, shadowed figures. He fumbled with the latch and pushed the window open.
"Eren? Mikasa? What's going on?" he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and sudden dread.
"We're leaving. Now," Eren whispered back, his voice tight. "The longer we wait the more likely lives would be taken if the rumors are true. You coming?"
Armin's breath caught. He glanced back into the dark room, towards where his grandfather slept. The conflict was brief but intense on his face; the fear, the logic, the loyalty. He looked back at Eren, at the unshakable, desperate determination in his eyes.
"Give me thirty seconds," Armin said, his voice now clear and resolved. He disappeared from the window.
True to his word, he emerged a half-minute later from the front door, shrugging into a worn jacket, a small, lumpy satchel slung over his shoulder. He'd left a note of his own. He joined them in the shadows, his face pale but set. "Okay. I'm ready."
The trio moved as one, a silent, grim unit slipping through the labyrinth of the camp. The main gate, and the world beyond, felt miles away. They were almost to the outer perimeter, where the camp's chaos gave way to open fields, when a voice cut through the darkness, lazy and familiar, but with an edge of authority.
"Now just what in the blazes do we have here?"
They froze. A figure stepped out from behind a stack of empty crates, holding a lantern. The light washed over the grizzled, kind face of Hannes. He was off-duty, a flask likely not far away, but his Garrison uniform was still on. His eyes, usually twinkling with drunken mirth, were sharp and assessing.
"Eren? Mikasa? Armin?" he said, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "It's the middle of the night. You kids should be in bed. Your mother will have my hide if she finds out I saw you out here and didn't drag you back by your ears."
Eren's mind raced, a frantic scramble for a lie, any lie. But the words wouldn't come. The truth was a weight too heavy to conceal. He met Hannes's gaze, his own eyes blazing with a desperate honesty that was far older than his ten years.
"There's a monster, Hannes," Eren said, his voice low and urgent. "A real one. Not a Titan. It can phase through walls. It attacked people in Wall Sina before disappearing to Rose, if it is what I think it is, I can't just ignore those rumors, not after everything."
He gestured to his wrist, to the hidden Omnitrix. "I'm the only one who can find it. The only one who might be able to stop it."
Hannes stared at him. The joviality drained from his face, replaced by a deep, weary sadness. He looked from Eren's determined face to Mikasa's silent resolve, to Armin's grim nod of confirmation. He saw the ghost of Shiganshina in their eyes, and that of the haunting incident last month. The same terrifying maturity that had been forced upon them before their time.
The garrison knew what Eren was referring to, he had seen the newspapers, but many had once again dismissed it for hysteria. Just like the ghost demon's weeks ago…
He let out a long, slow sigh, the sound carrying the weight of the world. The scent of cheap alcohol was faint on his breath.
"You kids…" he murmured, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his shoulders slumping. "Carla is going to kill me for this. She's going to skin me alive and use my hide for a new doormat."
Then, to their astonishment, he gestured with his head towards a nearby post where a single, patient Garrison horse was tethered. "Well? Don't just stand there gawkin'. Get on."
Eren blinked. "Hannes… you're not going to stop us?"
"Stop you?" Hannes let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Eren, I've known you since you were a babe in arms. When you get that look in your eye, walls couldn't stop you. Titans couldn't stop you." His expression softened. "You're as stubborn as a mule and with a heart too damn big for your own good. If you say you're the only one who can do this… well, I believe you."
He untethered the horse, a sturdy, placid animal. "I can't let you three run off into the night on foot. Now, come on. Up you get."
With a boost from Hannes, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin scrambled onto the horse's broad back. It was a tight fit, but they held on.
Hannes swung up into the saddle in front of them, taking the reins. He clicked his tongue, and the horse began to walk, then trot, moving with purpose away from the sleeping camp, towards the main road that led south.
As they passed the final, sleeping checkpoint, leaving the faint stench of despair and the silhouette of the refugee camp behind, Hannes glanced back at the three children clinging to him.
"Just so we're clear," he said, his voice a low grumble. "When your mother murders me, I'm haunting all three of you."
But in the dark, with the wind beginning to whip past them, Eren could see the set of Hannes's shoulders. It wasn't the slump of a drunkard, but the resolve of a soldier. He wasn't just giving them a ride. He was escorting them. He was, in his own flawed, loyal way, joining their desperate, foolish, necessary crusade.
"So, do you really have a lead on where this demon dog could be from the rumors?"
"…"
"…"
"…"
Hannes nearly wanted to facepalm, they really were kids. "…I'll take that as a no."
"I-I was thinking of maybe tracking it down?" Eren suggested.
"…Of course."
___________________
103rd second quadrant cadet corps barracks…
The air in the male and female barracks was thick enough to chew on, a foul cocktail of sweat, fear, and the sour tang of suppressed panic. The bravado and restless energy of the cadets had curdled into a brittle, waiting silence. Packs lay half-stuffed on bunks, containing meager worldly possessions gathered under the frantic, now-abandoned order to "be ready to move at first light." That order felt like it had been given a lifetime ago.
No official word had come. The two instructors, Kent and Ral, had left hours ago, their faces grim as granite, promising to report the "incident" to the nearest Garrison outpost and bring back orders. The sun had set. The moon had risen, a cold, indifferent spectator. And they had not returned.
Oulo sat on his bunk, not packing, just staring at his trembling hands. He could still see it; the blistering heat wave, the casual, brutal swipe that had turned Jansen into a bloody ruin. The phantom scent of ozone and scorched meat haunted every breath. Every creak of the old wooden barracks, every rustle of the wind outside, made him flinch, his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest.
All those paranoias he had been trying to dismiss…he had been right all along.
"Where are they?" a cadet named Liam whispered into the silence, his voice cracking. The same Liam who had dared Oulo to go to the latrine. There was no mockery in him now, only a child's terror.
"Maybe the Garrison is forming a bigger force," another cadet offered, the hope in his voice painfully thin.
"Or maybe that thing got them on the road," someone else muttered, and the words landed in the silence like a corpse hitting the floor.
Petra moved through the aisles between bunks with a quiet, steadying presence, her face pale but composed. "Speculating won't help," she said, her voice firm. "We follow the last order. We stay put and wait for—"
The heavy barrack doors creaked open.
Every cadet jumped, a collective intake of breath hissing through the room. Two figures stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the moon.
Instructors Kent and Ral had returned.
A wave of palpable relief washed over the room. Shoulders slumped, and held breaths were released in shaky sighs.
But the relief was short-lived.
Something…was wrong.
Instructor Kent, usually a barrel-chested, blustering presence, was… diminished. He stood slightly behind Ral, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He didn't speak, didn't meet anyone's eyes. He was just a statue of silence.
It was Instructor Ral who stepped forward, but the familiar, booming drill-sergeant cadence was gone. His voice was flat, unnervingly calm, a carefully controlled monotone that was more terrifying than any shout.
"At ease, cadets," he said, his eyes sweeping over them. They were cold, distant. "The situation has been assessed. It was a… false alarm."
The words hung in the air, nonsensical.
A… false alarm? Oulo's mind rebelled. They had seen Jansen die. He had felt the searing heat. He had smelled the blood.
"Sir?" Petra spoke up, her brow furrowed in confusion. "With all due respect… a cadet was killed. We all saw the creature."
Ral's (I just realized he and Petra have the same names, too late to change that now) gaze fixed on her, and for a split second, something icy and alien flickered in their depths. It was gone in an instant.
"A tragic accident during a training exercise," Ral stated, the lie delivered with absolute, chilling finality. "A panicked response to a wild animal, likely a disoriented bear, exacerbated by stress and poor light. The matter is closed."
Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the barracks. This wasn't right. This wasn't remotely right.
"But… the Scouts," another cadet protested. "The Scout squad that was here, they fought it! They led it away!"
"The Scout squad completed their investigation and have moved on to follow other leads," Ral replied smoothly. "They have confirmed our assessment. There is no monster. To report this officially would cause unnecessary and widespread panic. It would be a mark of shame on this corps. We are soldiers, or we are training to be. We handle our own problems."
The logic was a house of cards, but it was delivered with such absolute authority that it felt dangerous to challenge.
"So… we're not evacuating?" Liam asked, a desperate hope in his voice.
Ral's lips stretched into a thin, humorless smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "No. There is no need. You will all remain in the barracks tonight. Training will resume as normal at first light. We will mourn Jansen's tragic accident, and we will move forward. As soldiers do."
The finality in his tone was a slamming door. But one cadet, a tall, principled boy named Martin, couldn't let it go. The absurdity, the sheer, blatant cover-up, was too much. He stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Sir, with all due respect, this is insane!" Martin's voice was loud, ringing with a righteous anger that overrode his fear. "We have to report this! Jansen was killed! People need to know what's out there! We can't just pretend it was a—"
He never finished.
Instructor Ral's face changed. The placid, controlled mask shattered, replaced by an expression of such utter, cold-blooded seriousness that the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He took one swift step forward, closing the distance between them.
"Perhaps I did not make myself clear, Cadet," Ral said, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the air like a shard of glass.
Then he moved.
It was too fast for anyone to react. His fist, hard as a rock, drove deep into Martin's solar plexus.
OOF!
The sound was a sickening explosion of forced-out air. Martin's eyes bulged, all the breath and protest blasted from his lungs. He crumpled forward, hitting the wooden floorboards on his knees, gasping and retching, unable to draw a breath, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple.
A collective, horrified gasp went through the barracks. Petra took an involuntary step back, her hand flying to her mouth. Oulo felt his blood run cold. Instructors were strict, they were harsh, but they didn't… they didn't…
Ral looked down at the choking, wheezing form of Martin, his expression devoid of any emotion. Not anger, not frustration. Nothing.
"Article Four, Section Two of the Cadet Corps Code of Conduct," Ral stated, his flat monotone returning, now more terrifying than ever. "'Willful insubordination and disrespectful conduct toward a superior officer, demonstrated by raised voice and public contradiction, is grounds for immediate disciplinary action and potential expulsion.'"
He let the words hang in the air, letting every cadet absorb the cold, hard truth of the regulation he had just cited. It was real. He was using their own rulebook to justify this brutality.
He slowly lifted his gaze from Martin to sweep over the rest of the cadets, his eyes like chips of flint.
"The matter. Is. Closed." he said, each word a nail in a coffin. "You will return to your bunks. You will be silent."
His final words fell, not as an order, but as a verdict, an immutable law laid down by a merciless god.
"No one leaves."
Chapter 25-31 are already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom.