❝𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚.❞
Selfishly fascinated with her own strength, Valen Ferreira is willing to do nearly anything and everyth...
A ray of sun snaked its way through the canopy, which had been blanketed in darkness when Levi had come. He didn't understand─he refused to understand. He'd only been gone for under an hour. Under. An. Hour. So he hadn't expected to come back and see four-sevenths of his squad cruelly decimated, cloaked in blood and reeking of death.
Time had stopped, and reality ceased to exist. He could not decide which was more hideous─ Gunther's nearly decapitated head swinging from his neck or Eld's half-eaten body; Oruo's lifeless body swallowed by the underbrush or Petra's listless gaze. There was nothing more torturous than seeing his comrades─once sharp and full of life─reduced to bloodied corpses, pitiful remnants of the great men and women they once were.
Passing by Petra's corpse, he was already well aware this was only a dream─ years of nightmares had taught him how to discern even in sleep when he was living or simply reliving his worst moments. And that was the worst part. He was forever enslaved by his misery, the grisly phantoms of misfortune that tailed closely behind him since birth. How he wanted to be freed from the horrors of his mind─ how he wanted to close his eyes without reliving another death, to rest peacefully so when daylight came, his eyebags were a little less dark, and his shoulders less tense.
If only someone could awaken him─
꧁꧂
"Welcome to Trost District, sir." Levi's eyelids flickered open but quickly closed again when the sun's abrasive light struck his eyes, scattering stars across his retinas— they stayed closed until the sun was no longer so unforgiving, and steadily, he opened his eyes again.
Everything's alright. He straightened his aching neck, untucking his folded arms from his chest. Under a cloudless, extraordinarily cerulean sky, he was graced by an imposing castle-like building, its angled limbs guarding lodgings and weaponry— the Trost barracks.
"Sir, if you would," a male Garrison soldier said, extending a hand to a balding man occupying the opposing end of the wagon. Peering over, Levi noted a second passenger, and though he'd awakened seconds ago, he was already displeased: Pastor Nick—a man belonging to the Church of the Walls—unfurled himself from his woolen, navy shawl as the soldier assisted him. He'd accompanied the Pastor for three main reasons—because Hange asked so, because Erwin asked so, and lastly, Levi had business in Trost. Personal business, but business nonetheless.
