the hilt | eren jaeger

o n e - E.J.

YEAR 847~

I walked back to the barracks, the silence around every turn comforting me. Nobody to remind me of the horrors and trauma that I had witnessed, but yet, no one to comfort me. 

The floorboards creaking underneath my shoes was the only sound audible. I kept my eyes trained at my feet, until while turning a corner, I ran into someone.

I looked up, to see that the girl was furrowing her eyebrows. "What're you doing, dipshit," she paused for a moment, squinting at me a bit, "It's dinner time."

I rolled my eyes a bit and sighed, pushing past her, our shoulders colliding a bit at the action. Our pinkies grazed as well. Skin numbed where we had made contact. I didn't get a good look at her, and honestly I didn't care.

"Not my fault if you starve," she added, shrugging, then her footsteps resumed in the opposite direction, slowly fading out until they were no longer audible.

Her words and being were quickly evaporated from my mind, having not paid attention to her in the first place, and my feet continued to carry me to the barracks.

As my hand pushed the oak door open, my eyes befell a sea of empty mattresses and contempt silence, my breath was the only thing to break the silence.

I sat on my bed, frustrated, and ran my hands through my hair. I could feel the bruised lump on my head, still present from hitting it this morning. I sighed, and grabbed the bandages from the drawer in my bedside stand. Luckily, my shower had cleaned up all the dried blood and dirt that would've infected it.

I took the bandage roll and outstretched enough to wrap a few times around my head, then cut it with a small knife that had been with the aid kit.

A double take of the knife beckoned my interest, for it definitely didn't belong in any ordinary med kit. The knife was interesting and complex, the metal curving downwards to a point, with intentional discoloration fading the silvery exterior of the blade.

The hilt, however, was a polished, dark, forest green; and there were metal etchings of ivy leaves and marigolds travelling up the sides of the blade.

Overall, the dagger was extremely beautiful, and somehow holding it in my presence terrified me. Almost as a bad omen. It was also unbelievably sharp. Someone had to have put serious time in effort into maintaining the acute edge of the knife, which also concerned me a bit.

Without a second thought to it, I placed the knife inside my nightstand's drawer, separating it from the med kit.

Taking the bandages into my hands, I wrapped my head, and secured them with the fastener. I turned to look in the mirror, only to find my hair disheveled and strangely shaped due to the constricting nature of the bandages.

Looking in the mirror at my handiwork was... interesting. The medic definitely did a better job, but I didn't want their help anymore, or even ever again.

I let out a final groan of frustration before deciding that I should, after all, eat dinner.

And so, I left the bandages on the nightstand, with the dagger tucked inside the drawer, and allowed my feet to carry me to the dining hall.

*****

As I finally walked into the dining hall, I shunned my fellow comrades.

They all just viewed me as an arrogant, stick up the ass invertebrate without any real experience to accomplish my goals. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the pressure I placed upon myself, but I refuse to show them that I can break my resolve.