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[14846]

Chapter 13: Wept

He retreated down the hill where he came from, deciding another direction for interception would be better.

Reiner weighed his life indulgences. He could not pay his way into the afterlife. But he did think that maybe if he fought well enough, he'd be able to go to the forever land where people war’d forever.

Fennario would not be his, but he would pass the chance down to the next unlucky bastard to dream of.

He lapped his horse around toward the rear of the ranch, on an opposing side to the rest of the dragoons with Captain Ned. It was an impossible task. He knew it to be true. 

He looked between his ax and rifle, meditating for the moment. He'd have to let the jotunns guide him. The power that was all gone except for in the beating of his heart. 

He had the ax nestled and balanced in the strap of the old dragoon shell bag. The rifle was propped up against his shoulder, his remaining hand jostling the reins to commandeer the horse. 

It was getting harder and harder for him to hold up straight.

Behind the ranch the soldier posed on his horse. He allowed his eyes to close, and though he was not religious, he prayed. It was when they were in such a dire situation did humans hold onto hope as a last resort. Hope is the last thing that dies.

He was having a hard time inhaling, and it became evident that his lung could be in the works of collapsing. He was collapsing.

To get rid of the last of the dragoons with Captain Ned was to get rid of the imposing danger of her home burning, but to get rid of Captain Ned could stop the whole thing all together.

He was in no shape to handle one man by himself, because then there would be an absolute fact of the others imposing onto him with a blink of an eye.

He would have to impose all of them first. He guided the horse up against the wall and betted on it for an escape goat. His hands were starting to shake. His blood was trying ever more to keep his vitals running, and so his motor function was starting to fail to compensate for his life.

He clambered one leg up and tucked his knee to his chest, the pain becoming so brutal that he could not help but let out a cry. He could not help but roughly slam the rifle up against an overhang of the roof. His body was slowly starting to fail him.

He was dying to stand up. He pleaded with his body to keep doing what his mind was calling for it to do. With a lasting effort, and a yearn for Fennario, he ascended off of the saddle and onto the roof. He pulled his rifle up into his arms and crawled toward the ridge. He opened the chamber and stocked up some shells. He aimed.

He could not breathe. Instead, blood was painting his lips as he fought hard to exhale. He begged for a good shot. He choked with an inhale, his eyes starting to buzz and lose focus on his first target. A cough woke him up. He aimed again.

He let the shot blast with a bloody release of breath, and one of the dragoons fell. He recoiled the bolt handle and fired again, the next target being ever close to the first one. He repeated the practice until he did not have the power to make his finger pull the trigger. 

–

To Fennario.

To that one night. When she took him to his room so long ago when he broke the glass. When she made love to him. He was indebted to her.

She was his and he was hers.

He was madly in love.

–

The reflection of fire flickered over his eyes. He woke up and fired. It would not be nearly enough.

He left the rifle behind and slid down the valley that he had just climbed up from. The horse was waiting for him. 

He directed the horse with one hand, and his other hand wielded the ax to his side. Upon approach, he let go of the reins and let his other arm spread to balance out his ax in the other.

When he got closer he locked the empty hand with his other and glued it to his ax. He used the momentum of the horse to power his swing, and when it made contact with the last dragoon, the both of them tumbled off of their horses.

The seeping mud by the well which stood by the house caked into his flesh and blood. He crawled up, looking down toward the man who would not survive. The other tugged his shirt in a last resort of surrender. The thing Reiner did not so easily understand. The man guided his hand toward a knife sheath. He had to take him out of his misery. And he did.

The tale was harrowing. Reiner stood on his feet. Battered and bruised with a lot of the other terminology one could use to describe the situation.

The front of the ranch.

Captain Ned.

He was walking from behind, and the raven-haired man did not see him. It was like the whisper of death. Only Reiner could hear it. He became the grim reaper searching for a soul to take with him.

He clasped his arms around the man, holding him in a warm and bloody embrace. At first Captain Ned did not understand, but as the arms snaked around him more tightly, did he look a bit shocked.

They stumbled back together, but Reiner did not let go. The firm wrestling grip provided did not give easy release. The Captain knew a way out, though.

A knife in a sheathed pouch much like the standard issue of his interiors. He drew it and loosely aimed it behind him. The slightest release Reiner gave to avoid the damage was enough for the other to turn and flick the husk of a man down. 

“Bring me my bow, Janette. Or your house will burn.” He took the blonde by his hair and held him up on his knees.

Her mother was imprisoned in the house. Her blood. The giver of life and giver of her home. Her future. She looked at Reiner.

“Bring it to me! It only takes me a single word and your whole world is gone! Remember that, you whore!”

Her whole world was in the blonde's eyes. But if she didn't obey this simple task, her mother would die, and so would Fennario.

She was a smart woman.

She got his bow from his horse, and she handed it to the man in confidence. He drew the bow with another arrow, and aimed. 

“Let me say goodbye,” she intruded. 

The Captain had no compassion, but he allowed it for his own piety. She knelt before the man who was dying to live. She cast some hair back from his forehead and placed her cheek near his ear where she spoke “to Fennario.”

She planted a kiss on his face, and ever so carefully fed her hand toward his side. She found the knife, the very one that Reiner used to take down the last dragoon. She held it in secrecy and stood up. She let Captain Ned draw the bow, and as she approached the other's safety, she cut him down.

She cut down the Captain of Klorva. It was so very painful, but she was a smart woman. She had seen this potential way out when Reiner approached. The knife was their freedom.

She faltered in her step to meet with the man who was living to see Fennario. Just above the hill did dawn start to come, and soon what followed was a visible hoard of rain clouds. 

Reiner had been dealt his row of cards. But the last one that was turned over was the promise that he'd have his Bonnie Lass of Fennario. She wept for him, and he wept for her. 

[14846]

Chapter 12: War and Testimony

How he yearned for her. Pulled from the lull of death’s sleep, did he try. But like a wounded deer during hunting season, he was having a hard time to provoke any movement. Instead, a guttural sound came from his lungs as he tried to breathe. He could not hear anything except the sound of blood rushing past his ears. There was something bright behind him, like a flame that reminded him that hell was waiting for him. Janette looked terrified.

She fought with his attempted murderer. But when there was a knife held at Reiner’s throat, she had no choice but to comply. There was a flame erect from a staff, held by a third party by Captain Ned. A siege. Anger. Resentment. He misjudged how much of a fool this raven-clad man really was.

They had left him to die. 

The thistle calls from a cricket. The sound of a crying frog. Never had he really been alone. The raven. The actual raven was perched up on a branch above the glistening river. It croaked at him. It beckoned him to get up. Reiner’s face looked horizontal with the waters as he laid there. His golden eyes did nothing but cement with the poor flow of water a few yards of him. 

He lamented. But in the aggravation of his mind, he felt his hands start to move. He wasn’t weak. Now, more than ever, did he need to keep. Moving. Forward. His body allowed him to do it in the past. And though then his body was once cursed, he still held it to the same expectation. As he got up to his knees, he could see the arrowhead just barely protruding from his chest. And through the pain, he riveted. He raised his hands, and he grabbed the shaft from his back and broke it off to prevent it snagging on anything.

He had been through so much pain before. But now this was the true test of his armor- his true durability. He would have to heal like everyone else, but he had the experience of pain only souls who were not granted the heavens would feel. At first he stumbled. Twice, he stumbled. A third attempt, and he finally was able to lay his shoes flat against the ground. He was a dead man walking. 

His gate was short, small spurts, but as he was able to gain the momentum, he felt his legs carry himself faster. Exiting the grove gave him a more clear picture of what was happening. Flames afar. He would be too late. 

He had to stop a few times. And just a short, visible jaunt to the bunkhouse did he falter. The fields of golds had caught flame, and it was all because of him. There was no time to mourn. If he wasn’t careful, his hunters would easily catch him. He was a wounded animal leaving a trail of blood behind him. 

He had heard stories of monsters who would break in places they were not supposed to. Monsters never braw to their victims. He would have to adopt their testimony. He shuffled forward into a jog, and entered the bunkhouse from the back. It would only be some time before this building was found by the fire and burnt along with the rest. He met with the ax that was always sitting by the door, and stole it from its resting place. 

He equipped himself with other necessities in case he would lose his main melee. The offensive role wasn’t one he was always fruitful on taking, but this was one of those exceptions. 

He was the prey who became the hunter. He had known this role so well when he infiltrated this island in the first place. A pretender, a person who acted the role so vehemently, only to be the betrayer to humanity. He would betray these people who thought he was better dead.

He made the overgrowing flame his cover. The smoke curtled and swarmed, perfect as a drape to cloak over his positioning. The best vantage was to know the land, and that he did. Though, there was no saying that Captain Ned may have known more than him about this fruitful land. 

He could hear a horse far up. As he got closer, he laid low and watched the scene.

A few men from his dragoon, no doubt. He would have to be careful of the gunfire. He positioned himself carefully, making sure he had a clear path to return to once he made his move. And with the most painful throw he had ever done in his life, the ax left his hands and planted itself into one of the poor men on horseback. A tragedy no less, and even more painful to hear the cries of the human being who had no idea what just hit him.

The spooked horse so obviously ran, and this was a beautiful thing to see, because it distracted the squad of goons who had been ordered by his foe. Reiner ran from behind, picking the weakest and furthest individual from the pack. 

He tried to make it quick. Because he had not exercised too terribly with his wound so far, he was sure he could keep it going for some time longer. He threw his drawn hunting knife, and he knew how to so perfectly angle it from the time he was trained as a cadet. Those years felt so long ago. The man started to slide from the back of his steed, and Reiner strode to intercept the pair before the horse would get panic-stricken. 

He hugged and wrestle-gripped the man from behind, and carefully pulled him off of the saddle. Once he had the man under his control, he dragged him further into the field and threatened to end his life if he would not comply. There were only a few exchanged nods, and Reiner left the man in the field with the ever approaching flames of fire to encapsulate him. He found his ax not too far away from the newly abandoned horse, and he hiked it up over his shoulder as he forced himself onto his mount. 

He could feel his shirt growing warmer and warmer around the foreign object that had pierced through him. He had no choice but to ride a bit improperly, because given this unfortunate circumstance, there was no way he could sit in good form without suffering in a large amount of pain. 

The dragoons had seen this coming. They were quick to split. A few went to retrieve the other horse, while the others went after him. There was a gun blast that flew past him, but due to the smoke shield, he happily accessed that it would be hard to land a potentially good hit. 

This was his war. 

He leaned forward and hugged close to the neck of his horse as they disappeared into the thick of it. It was painful for the both of them, but through to the other side, and he could finally see some clarity. He readied his ax, and when the first rider appeared through the cloud, he struck. It landed, and the first man fell. The second was met with another knife, and upon the third, he steered the steed straight for him and confiscated his rifle, allowing the man to fall and get trampled in the process.

He abandoned his horse and let it run off as he retrieved his ax from the broken man on the ground. He had to try and ignore the humanity of the situation, just like he had done before. He knelt down close to the corpse, not allowing himself to falter as he beckoned himself to lay and cock his rifle. He was starting to feel a bit weary now, and the pain was doing him no pleasure, but he aimed. 

The latter group of goons came out, and with every exhale of breath, Reiner fired. Every exhale that a part of his own life bereft of him. It was a horrendous act of faith, and when he saw no more coming, he rose from his hidden place from the deceased dragoon next to him.

A look of poor judgment, his nose wrinkling as he tried to hold back the emotion of this testament, and he searched the man’s body. He found a bag of shells for the rifle, and took them around his own, good shoulder. 

It was hard to get back onto his feet. He was starting to feel like he was running on empty, but he was still dreaming. He was yearning for Fennario. 

He struggled to form a footing, but once he was successful, he took another horse who had not been so easily spooked. He trotted up the hill, and once he reached the peak, he saw below Captain Ned, and a dejected lass of who he was trying to term his way with. And in all thoughts abysmally to the raven-haired man, a flame so close and teasing right to her ranch nearby. It was a threat to her testimony. 

It would be too risky to fire the rifle. Ned was around Janette, making her look at the scene of her soon-to-be perishing home.

[14846]

Chapter 11: Fennario

There was someone standing by the fence, only just barely abeyant by the shine of a dim lantern, tying a horse to it. It was revealed to be a cloaked man, with raven hair and eyes so gray and pale it was like a portal to the paths. The two men looked at each other. It was a rather slow draw, really, when their eyes met. So this was the other man. This is why the mother was roost by the fireplace. She was waiting for him. It would have been made a mockery of him if Reiner had stayed.

Perhaps the visitor was unbeknownst to the girl. Perhaps there was a surprise waiting.

Reiner’s whole soul dropped in what his heart was lunging to tell him. The raven-haired man nodded at him before walking toward the ranch. The paths had become so evident to him. He would be letting go of her if this raven endowed his message successfully.

This other man looked more like an ethereal being who would come on earth only to be with a mortal. Reiner fought with the coward in him. The coward he knew so true to be in his heart. This ill fated omen was something he wasn’t sure if he could break. What could make it conceivable that he was the rightful one to her heart?

He had thrown all his pearls to the swine, but now his hands were so adorned with hard work, that he knew it too simply that it would be hard to leave. Where was he to go? Marley? Have the same thing possibly happen to him there?

Or would he fight? Would he stand firm and finish the entire reason he had come here for in the first place? He could not abandon the mission. That was right! By Ymir and King Fritz, he had a mission! He was not one to give up.

He knew this window very well. He had just hoped that perhaps his good lass was still in shock that she had holed herself up temporarily in the room. He threw a rock at it. Two- three- maybe even four? She would be so confused by his shift in attitude.

His bait worked, and she opened the windowsill with an expression so contorted and awe struck. Ah, so she did not know the thief was in the house with her. The blonde beamed.

“Skip dinner with me, will you?” He must’ve looked like a buffoon. She frowned as if she were about to deny him, so he chimed “I thought we were friends?”

She was unsure if this was going to turn into some sort of confrontation. She looked over her shoulder as if to make sure she was in the clear, and she wavered for the blonde man to come closer and help her down. “Argh- you make me a mess, Reiner.”��

“There’s no fun if you can’t make a mess.” She shuffled her torso out of the window, and he promptly grabbed onto her waist and tugged her down. Once they were settled, he grabbed onto her arm and tugged her away from her home. His pace was a bit too quick for her, because she was stumbling.

“Where do you reckon you’re taking me now, you big brute?”

“To Fennario, obviously.”

“Where’s that?”

He stopped and looked at her once they were able to cascade down the hill away from the ranch. He looked just about offended by her question. His eyes peered around and he motioned his arm to the fields of gold that disguised their very presence. “Well- this is Fennario, Janette?” 

This captivated her, but she still wasn’t buying his sudden kindness. “What is this about? You can’t be doing this to me, now can you?” She playfully shoved the man backward a few feet. “You show up like a ghost at my window and start talking fantasy to me.” She couldn’t help but let the intoxicated feeling that only he could rouse enter her lungs. 

He wrapped his arms around himself and pinned his finger up to his lips thoughtfully, “well, I thought you could use some pretending. I had a change of heart, you know?”

“Are you trying to woo me, Reiner?”

“I really don’t like that word, Janette,” he bit her name out in return to his own being heard. He loosely extended his arm out and reached for her hand, mindlessly playing with her fingers. It was a full moon out, and perhaps it was true with all those silly tales of it causing lunacy. She eyed him curiously, her eyebrow jolting upward to play in with the charade. 

“Come on, then. Don’t let me regret my dinner being spoiled.”

He became obligated. His hand wrapped around hers. The firm, smaller hands of a hard worker around his own hardened hands felt like they were made to be molded together. They scrounged through the wheat field, a few giggles emanating from the both of them as they fluttered further away from her home. A venture made for only the two of them to complete. Through the briar patch at the end of the fields of marigold, past a small thicket and witch’s circle, away from the crowd of looming birds who were trying to sleep. They did not want to disturb their peace. They settled for a horse at the stable and rode it together through the terrain.

They stopped at a river, and let their horse loose to graze.

“Tell me more about Fennario,” she demanded to her friend, who was now trying to skip some rocks in a settled area of the otherwise treading waters. 

“Well, it’s a land of peace. A special kind of place that soldiers yearn for as they give up their last breath.”

“So it’s heaven, then?”

“Ah, no. No, it’s not. It’s a very real place, actually.”

“Who’s to say heaven isn’t real?”

“Well, I’ve certainly never seen it.”

“But Fennario is real?”

“Mhm,” he grunted as he frisbeed another flat pebble to hop along the water. 

“You said Fennario is here. Why haven’t I seen more soldiers coming up to find their peace?”

A slight pause, and with another guided throw, the man answered. “You have. There's one in your house right now, with the blessing of your mom to wait for his own Fennario.”

She picked up a pebble and threw it at him. “So this is why you took me down from my room, huh??”

He turned upon the impact of the small stone against his skin. “Yes..” At least he admitted. 

“Reiner, it's complicated.” She walked toward him in some desperation to get the poor man to understand. “I thought you were gone. Captain Ned is a good man- he's the reason my farm is still standing.” She shook her head defeatedly and hoisted her hand up to cup his cheek. A look of disdain. “I don't want him,” she said finally. Reiner met her gaze with some fashioned hurt, and he pulled his hand to hold and fasten to her forearm.

“You're my Fennario,” he said so quietly in shame. 

To want something you could never have was tempting like the forbidden apple. Oh, to be wild in nature without the care of who could do what. Reiner could do more, though. He had learned so much. He had abandoned everything for her, but still spoke so little about where he had been.

The time that she could not have with him. The time that held their secrecy like a person who refused to speak even as they were being drawn and quartered. Her time that was otherwise spent with Captain Ned. His hair so dark and harrowing, that it absorbed all colors of life. His eyes that imbued secrecy just all the same. His hands so polite yet so capable of damage she was not blind to. 

She did not want to start a war. She was ruined. But one look at the man’s eyes who stood just inches from her reminded her where her world lied. She wanted to shield him. She wanted to protect him and fight for her land. If only she knew the detail of most of his life being taken in that trajectory.

She thumbed over the stubble he had been growing, and then pulled her hand down to his shoulder and started to use it as an anchor. He knelt down for her, and she joined him with her own knees touching the earthy ground. She put her face so close to his, the gesture almost seeming feint when her eyes carried her gaze to his hands. 

She could feel his head tilt to try and follow her eyes, but instead of having his curiosity captured, he became further distracted by her face. He was looking so deeply and intently at her, that he would compare himself useless. She took the lead and guided his arms up around her, and he complied fervently. Perhaps everything good would just start with an embrace. He went limp. 

And in a nightmare of blood flooded in so sweet from the nectar of this born dream, she looked over his shoulder. Captain Ned, standing with a bow, and an arrow long missing from its wielder, deep into the man she chose.

[14846]

Chapter 10: To Be Or Not to Be

The wind seemed to whisper her name. It was in the way, when you seemed to not be listening to anything that chords of life sounded by your ears at once. The sound of the chill moving past her ears spoke her name, but one that perhaps she was called to in another life. In the distance, a raven caw as if it were gawking with humor at this pathetic sight. The girl with a Frank name, walking clad in wool, kulning to the cows in the distant pasture. 

It had been a few hours since she had not seen the large man of whom she so arduously- and witful- gotten her mother to adopt to her farm, and as much as she wanted to eventually intrude on what he had made himself useful to, she knew better than to make her mother give her a double glance. Entertaining the man was something the older woman would not condone. 

Her mother had been watching her with the eyes thought only to be held by a sun god. There was suspicion, and nothing unorthodox would be condoned in the land she so orthodox-ly inherited. Not even the old woman’s husband slept in the same bedroom as she did. She was the queen. She was the god Janette was raised knowing, not Reiner.

She would see glimpses of the fair tufts of hair passing in the distance. She could not catch him very often, and he became more like a ghost than even a figment of her own imagination. He was like the cup of forbidden drink only nobles could imbibe. She grew a drunken fascination with the way the golden rays of sun reflected onto her land’s meadows of gold- and his hair. His eyes. The golden center flowing from the pale, emerald green. How his eyes managed to capture the nature of her life. Her life was here. Her father’s business was a way for her to earn and commute to education. 

Her life of creation. Her life of earth, stone, leaves, ash. Her life of what overtook her being. Her earned hands and knowledge of what humanity has had the innate instinct of cultivating. To grow and be a deity to the lands that you will never truly own. She would be buried in the earth and feed it just the same as she had her cows with bread. 

Her life lived in his eyes, and she deemed herself not capable of living without it. It was her life. 

Despite their differences, their closeness had not been strained. He had easily forgiven her, and insisted no more when she begged to tell his mind that she had come too strong with her poor attitude. But still, the fear was still there, instilled deep inside the fibers of her bone, but it’s what kept her coming. The strange aura he had, yet the sullen, meager, selfless way the tall man carried was so unlike the man who she saw when she took him in that sacred night. He was demonized. She let her thoughts stray to how he might look fighting with a purpose. Perhaps she should ask him?

She had many days to trouble her mind over understanding him. The other had done nothing on her farm to concern her that he was a risk, and it was to her amusement as she started to trust the man slowly again. She slowly was able to tip-tap her shoes in his direction without any reluctance now. 

She would have to forget all that was done wrong before. Sometimes things needed to be taken to the grave. She would have been more scornful of him, but she too, had a secret.

She had been seeing someone else. It started some time ago when she had to abandon her heart for her blonde boe to come back for her.  It was unintentional. He too, was a hero. She was reintroduced to him at an evening banquet to commemorate all the local efforts made to keep Klorva thriving. He was the one to revitalize the ruins of her mother’s farm post Rumbling. He was a hero because he saved her world. The very world she could see in Reiner’s eyes.

This is why her mother was so against her now. The senior woman had grown so favorable to this other man, and did not seem moved by the slightest at how Reiner was titled in helping save the world. She saw him as an accessory to the mission. This other man, Captain Ned, had her favor. 

And the sick truth to it all was how Reiner knew nothing of this. He was attracted to her like how a hummingbird craved the nectar sprung out of a flower. He would bend over backward for her if it meant something beneficial to her. By all accounts, though, Janette found an embarrassing attraction to Captain Ned. Without him, her life would be a venture on the street. Without him, Reiner would not have a roof over his head right now. She had to be thankful for her home.

A rejection to Captain Ned would mean a rejection to the home her family had so vicariously sought to rebuild. She wrapped the wool shawl close to her chest as she watched her cows eat, careless to her personal problems. Meters away, posted on the wrap-around porch of her home, her mother’s eyes scorned into her. 

She knew the evil festering in her daughter’s heart.

—

Through sickness and through health, she promised to take care of only herself until there would be only one other half standing for her. She had gotten ready for her day, the dew coming long gone as they were taken back up to the blue ocean above. Captain Ned was coming to take her away.

The usual peruse. The oogle at shops and the way he so eagerly wanted to buy her anything she looked at. He would place his hand so politely on her, never achieving any un-grace below her lower-back. He was a gentleman to her, and it made her all the more sad at her consideration. 

She came back home with plenty more things than she had left in. Things so obviously gifted to her in a fashion more deeply implied than just being with friends. 

Reiner had been deemed a dog who had to sleep in the bunk-house with the other workers. But even tonight, as usual Wednesday evenings, all were welcome to have dinner inside the ranch for some compensation for their hard work. She thought she could slip in early enough to miss sight of him as she snaked her things to her room. 

She was wrong.

Reiner was the first one to open the door to her own home. Something glimmered in those eyes of his as he could finally connect back with his friend. She could tell the man was tired by the way those eyes were set-in. He gave her no more time to study him, as he reached over and tore what she had been carrying away from her grasp. Another gentleman graveling for her stuck the knife deeper and twisted it. 

He asserted their route to her room, not giving any condolence to the mother who was standing so idly by the fireplace. It was like she was blinded. She no longer could see what was in front of her. She had become an encapsulated, moving corpse. The heavy burden of regret ached and stuck the pins between every vertebra of her spine. The echo of distant conversations, the way the absence of light overtook her as the pair walked down the corridor and to her room. She was following her phantom to her chamber where she would stay up waiting for desire to reach her.

Neither of them closed her door. He had been chipping up a conversation the entire time, but the lack of her response made a wave of warm anxiety flood over his cheeks and nose. He set her things down, and though he knew it was rude to snoop, it wasn’t exactly difficult to see what kinds of things she had brought back home. He just became too aloof in trust to even think that it was a possibility she had fallen in love with someone else. 

A cased necklace on top of adorned things that he could not dream of affording given his current state. The man turned, daring to look her in the eyes, and with a curt shuffle, he started on out of her room.

“He’s not anyone, Reiner.” She stated as if it were a reminder. Janette could not return his gaze, but she still committed to holding her head high. Directly across from her, where Reiner set her things down on, her vanity. Her vanity which hosted the mirror she so foolishly looked at. The reflection returned to her was piteous. 

“So you don’t even have the grace to put him with a name? I can only imagine what a nobody I am to you, then.” They weren’t anything by title. They didn’t even have the grace to put a name as to what they were. Yet, this simple line of human decency told him everything. On top of it, he was indeed jealous.

She couldn’t stop him even if she liked. He carried one boot in front of the other and instead of joining with the original plans for the evening, he sulked past her mother and left the home. The woman looked as if she had foreseen it all. The heartbreak was all a part of something she could hold up like a puppet master, and if all came to plan, Reiner was about to be strung into the flame just the same as in the fireplace she so closely stood by. 

His heart was splintering, thudding only by the beat of an ancient drum. The raven, perched on top of a casting branch above his head, gawked at his tomfoolery. He had been wrong this entire time. The projection of his life could not have been more wrong no matter what direction he went in. The power of the jotunns may have been cured from his sanity, but Ymir still scorched his heart. 

He could not blame her. Her heart deserved something instead of empty-ended promises. Unsaid promises he failed to keep by staying away from her. The devastation still hurt just the same, though, and the blame was another pail mounted on his back. A slave to freedom he was, but not for the whole world. His world. 

A world he came to know that he would never know.

[14846]

Chapter 9: Sick and Twisted

Sick and twisted was Janette’s mind. This man could not have possibly been anyone she had once known? But his hair was the same color, the way his shoulders jutted straight out and carried his large arms, the way his gaze was still so passionate with everything he looked at and did. It was unmistakable. This bloodied man was someone she once questioned if she loved. Was this who he was all along? Deep inside?

She turned and left, almost like a shadow as her figure disappeared behind a few of the bystanders who were calling it a night. These people wanted to go home and hug their children and parents. They were thankful to be spared another day. 

She waited for him outside. She was no coward.

Reiner appeared, and the two were standing face-to-face by a mere few meters. Her God, supposedly, was closer than she thought. What a wonderful religious experience. 

She would be stupid to not admit that the new visual of him scared her. It was like, on top of that horrific omen he spoke of in the tavern, he was too, a ghost. Why was he, of all places, here? If this was a normal romance, she might be inclined to slap him, but the sight of someone who seemed almost entirely unfamiliar to her set her back. 

It was only by this time that she could see his eyes. They looked so entirely sorry and capable. How could she trust them? 

This wasn't the closure she wanted, and she felt a fool for even thinking like such things like fairytales could exist for her. She felt her eyes burn with tears, but in her courage, she turned and started on down the road, abandoning him.

“Hey- hey!” She heard him call. His voice remained somehow stern, and she could hear his steps falter behind her. 

She turned and shoved the man back with more force than she'd ever have liked. And after she saw that he did not budge any further away, she bent over and threw some gravel at him to shoo him off. This old dog did not budge.

Now she felt bad. A look behind his figure, and she could see the approaching police that were finally answering to the call that she figured must be for Reiner.

“What did you do??” she pleaded in disbelief. The man joined her gaze behind him, and for an inkling, she suspected that there was even a chance that he was willing to turn himself in.

This just about broke the blonde’s heart. He had done it all. By all counts, she should consider him legally insane. The two joined each other's gaze again, and what she deemed a poor call of judgment, she lunged her arm forward and pulled him by the sleeve. 

There was no way she'd bring any disadvantage to herself of gaining any answers by letting him be fed to those dogs. 

Thank Ymir she had brought her horse this evening, and she prompted the male to hop on behind her in their makeshift getaway car. He was sluggish, a bit more than she expected in truth, but after some calls of snarky encouragement, the brute had made his way up and was holding his body so close behind hers. 

The further they rode, the more weight she felt start to lean against her back. His arms threaded loose from her sides, and for a moment she swore this God was just about to fall off of their getaway. 

He really was a princess. A princess in need of saving, she thought. She managed to free one hand and snake it toward his head. She fingered through his hair, and in a firm grip, she yanked the man to guttural consciousness. “Stay awake,” she said firmly, not allowing her worry to sud through her otherwise confident tone.

Every gate the horse made in step, Reiner would just about bump his weight straight into her back. The weight of this man, even now in his obvious disheveledness, was something so harrowing for her to deal with. He was heavy, and by all means, not necessarily a terrible thing- disgusting. Who was this man anymore?

How was she going to deal with Reiner? Her parents were not expecting any guests, and let alone not an escaped jailbird. She'd have to sneak him in, but he was in dire need of food, possibly even a bath- oh the tasks were too many. 

She drew her horse to a stop and bickered for the burly man to get off of the steed first. She followed in pursuit and handled her horse friend, leaving the blonde to stand still and alone until she was ready. 

–

A firm pair of hands on Reiner's shoulders reminded him that it was time to go inside. Janette pulled on him, and made him wait outside by a window. Scandalous. She couldn't risk her parents being awake, and she was sure she'd have to break the news ever so slowly to them if he were even to be considered a guest on their homestead in the first place.

He started to shiver in wait. The cold, night breeze suddenly reminding him how miserable he felt his body had become. Soon, a light switch, a couple of thuds, and the raising of the windowsill took his attention back to his savior.

She was his Rapunzel, or so he thought the story went? His mother told him the story once when he was small. 

She helped hoist him up, and the uncomfortable grunts emanating between the two of them would have seemed suggestive to any prying ears. Never fear, for it was short lived- sort of. Reiner couldn't help but suddenly groan out, and Janette had no choice but to cover his mouth with her hand. 

She walked him toward her desk chair, as it became clear that this was her room, all a bit worried as to why the man had suddenly become so fragile under her arms.

He shakily took a seat and shyly ripped himself away from her, his hands prying up his shirt to reveal that his wound- from the window at her tavern- had begun profusely bleeding again. It must've been the pressure of the leverage he used to get inside this house now, that broke it open.

Janette couldn't help but gasp and cringe, and she quickly grabbed his hand and ordered it to stay firm against the bleeding. Shakily, she raised her finger toward her lips and murmured a hush. The two nodded at each other in understanding, not once breaking their desperate eye-contact for the moment, and she left the room to find something to help.

The look of his face as she left him in her room tortured her. A few steps in her journey and:

“Honey? What are you doing?” A woman's voice called curiously down the measley corridor that led to the rest of the house.  “Getting some fresh linens! Tomorrow is laundry day, so I'm just going to pile my dirty bedding and clothing all together so I don't have to do it in the morning!” This late at night? What difference would it make now? “No, no. Hold on, dear. Cherrol just moved the clean linens. Let me get them for you.” Shit. She had gotten some blood on her fingers, and she wiped it dry on her apron.  “No, I don't want you to do that! I told you I'd take care of things when I'd come home!”  A pause. “Is everything okay? You didn't drink too much at the bar, did you?” 

“No, Mama.” She attempted to change the subject back. “Where did Cherrol put the linens?” Cherrol, their somewhat titled housemaid, was such a sweet woman. When Janette wasn't there, the woman remained as the primary caregiver to the much older grandmother of Janette. Grandmother had lived just a couple of doors down from Janette's own room.

A few more words of exchange, and Janette had to quite reluctantly grab the linens she so told her mother she needed. Luckily, she still managed to grab the medical bag she knew very well tucked into her original destination.

Poor Reiner. He had been sitting so obediently and quietly, even though now he was starting to look like a crime scene. His eyes were dulled over, one of those practices he knew all too well to get through the pain.

She knelt down at his knees and kept their verbiage to a minimum. With a flick of her hand, she motioned for the male to raise up his shirt, and he obliged. Thankfully, after wiping away the blood, it seemed to be in much safer condition than she originally thought. 

She touched it up, trying to be meticulous and careful with how she dealt with him. Only a few times he would start to groan, and when he did, she would raise her finger back to her lips and hush him, beckoning a few nods until he'd return them carefully. 

There wasn't a real need for stitches, or at least she wasn't medically qualified to tell. She did, however, clean it up and waterproof the living hell out of it. 

This was her plan all along. 

“Reiner,” she said quietly. “You're going to get a bath tonight.” It was like she was talking to a dog. Her tone seemed so threatening, but the message was all too caring. The other blinked slowly and looked up at her in such a way as she stood up. He so desperately wanted one, but the act of actually doing it was a daunting one. He only managed to mumble something in defeat. 

Her family had money. And with money came indoor plumbing. A fascinating thing, really. She hooked her arms underneath the man's armpits to help alleviate the strain he must've had to endure with most movements, and she walked her once potential lover toward her bedroom door. She poked her head outside, and with the silence that told her luck was on her side, she snuck the man that stuck out like a sore thumb everywhere he ever went to the washroom.

She forbade the man from making any movements or noise as she had to leave him yet again. It was easier this time. Her father was not home, and her parents did not sleep in the same room anymore, so she was able to cater him some clothes and whatnots once she returned.

She ran the water for him, not really entirely sure why considering he was definitely old enough to figure it out himself. Once she was satisfied with her handiwork, she left the man alone after giving him some instructions of the functionality of the washroom. 

Once he had appeared back into the room, surprisingly clean shaven- she had offered her father's shaving kit, but wasn't expecting him to take her up on it- he was ushered to sit on her bed. She got up and inspected the bathroom and cleaned up any trace of a male being present inside, and stored away the evidence back in her father's room.

She returned, and finally took a good look at him. 

“Are you hungry?”

No answer.

“Reiner,” she whispered accusingly, “you're freaking me out.” The man gulped and looked up at her solemnly. He was waiting for this conversation. They stared at each other for a while, and she grabbed a plate she had so carefully prepared while he was in the washroom, and took it over to him. The man did not touch it.

“I don't know what happened. I don't care what you did, and you don't even have to tell me.” She picked up some bread and practically shoved it toward the man's mouth. “But shame on you for never contacting me. I should kick you out like a poor peasant and let you go to those bastards.” 

His lips pursed tightly together as he refused to eat, and he turned his head away like a toddler showing defiance. She smacked him at his arm and smothered the bread to his face, and when he didn't comply, she grabbed a fistful of food and slapped it against his stupid expression. “You ungrateful mutt.” She grabbed another fistful and was tempted to make it meet his face just the same. “You wait all this time? Why else are you in Klorva? And above all- you threatened people? You scare them.” She looked so hurt. Who was this man? Certainly not the one she had known.

She sniffed a little out of pure frustration. “How many people have you had to be this way to? You told them you killed their babies, Reiner. You're breaking my heart.”

How was the man supposed to respond? She was completely and utterly right, but this is what he had asked for. He needed her to tell him this, because she was right. If she didn’t, or if he had never seen her again, he’d go on the rest of his life wondering what could have been said. However, his face felt rather ridiculous with her angry food throwing. He started to pick up the bits of food, and eyed her carefully as he put it back on the plate. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Sorry was all? Sorry never meant anything, and he knew that. All he could think about was how her heart was breaking. 

“Reiner, I know what happened in your past. Everyone knows what happened in Paradis. I know that there is great shame in your heart for it, but this scared me. You know you’re not a God, for Ymir’s sake. Right?” Her eyebrows furrowed as if she wanted confirmation. 

“For crying out loud, Janette. Please. Stop-” the male raised his hands and ran through through his wet hair, his eyes following elsewhere in her room. “How can I explain something to you that you won’t understand?”

She slapped him. Hard. “How dare you call me stupid.” “I never said tha-” “You implied it.” “Janette, please.” “You’re not a god.” “I’m not a god.”

A pause between them, and she realized that Reiner was rubbing his cheek where she had hit him.

“I don’t know you anymore,” she said quietly. But by all the will power in her heart, she was just as bad as him. She was captivated and happy to have him beside her, and it was sick and twisted. She was sick and twisted just like him.

[14846]

Chapter 8: God

Reiner had lost track of where he was by this point. He had to wipe himself down in a half-assed motion to try and clear his person from any look that he had just dived in a soot-filled chimney. Santa Clause his ass.

By now he had purchased himself a map, some fresh clothes, and even a pack of cigarettes. He was surprised to even see such an item within the island, but it could definitely make all the sense now considering connection with the outside was growing more and more.

He didn't enjoy smoking, but he was attempting it as a last resort to try and occupy his mind with another addiction than those stupid coca leaves. He should've done this when he had some wiggle room with the amount of leaves he had left, but now it was seeming like a cold turkey transition was going to have to be closer in order than he'd like.  

He had to make do with what he had. He tore his old shirt into strips and wrapped them around his shins to create some sort of compression to mediate the shin splints that were still giving him a hard time. He rolled bottles and other means against them to try and relieve the pressure, but they were getting worse and worse by the day. Proper rest was supposed to be in order, but the longer he stayed near the interior, the worse the chances would be for him. 

Posted up against a tree against a more desolate road bound for the countryside, Reiner stood puffing on the stick of tobacco. His eyes were scanning over the map and giving it a once-over. It was already bad enough that he seemed like a hitchhiker on the side of the road, let alone with a rather large map that screamed he was foreign to this part of the island. With firm hands, he folded the wrinkled chart and stuffed it in his bag- a new bag, if he were to add. The other one was not painting a good picture for himself, so he purchased a more firm fitting satchel. He did feel a bit ridiculous with it, but he for sure needed it to hold his precious cargo. 

He let his legs carry him, his eyes ever-so-slightly narrowing in tolerance at the needles that stung into his legs. He went from zero to one-hundred in such a short amount of time. Prison to breaking it free in the span of one night. He was smarter than that, and should’ve prepared himself by keeping himself fit and engaged with the physical turbulence that he was bound to face while in prison. He shook his head at himself every time the thought erupted into his mind. 

He made sure to keep his distance enough from the road to not be seen, but not far enough away to seem suspicious to passing people in their wagons. It was a relief, to say the least, when, after ten days of walking, he made it to where the map told him Klorva was. 

—

It was like all the weight of his determination washed completely over, because the man just about collapsed into a chair at a local tavern. He let his guard down, because it was immediately then, when he lowered his head to face inches from the table, did he feel a firm grasp on the back of his head smash his face into the polished wood. 

The hand pulled his head up by the hair, and with another blow, his face met again harsh against the table. Reiner was blinded, but like the brute he was, he was quick on his feet, his own hands grabbing for the chair that he had just been sitting on, and with a swing, he met it with his attacker. 

He was so weak inside, though, that the swing even sent him back a couple of feet. To his dismay, he fell back right into the grasp of two other men who held him down. The words between the group of men- he was sure- were calling to get some police officials in the matter. He had been caught, and of all places, somewhere far away from the interior. 

He was almost given up as they pinned his shoulders down, the men arching his back in an unnatural way against a booth table. He had not even realized how the blood smeared onto his face from his lips and nose, and so it was of no illusion to the shock in the people’s faces as Reiner began to laugh. So close to freedom, teased with success, only to be for sure knocking at death’s door by the hands of the government. 

His laughs grew louder, and his legs gave in to any of the support they may have offered in his uncomfortable positioning. The men had to hold him up against that damned table, because Reiner was absolutely losing it. When one of them looked down at the blonde’s face, he was met with a bloody spit that splattered across his face. 

Maniacal he became in this last moment of free will. To the guillotine he was to go! How dare he ever think of any search for peace and forgiveness. How dare he hold onto any hope? The corner of the table knived into his back as he failed to hold himself up, the jitters of his guffaw making it worse and worse for any possibility of stature.

“Who’s to say- who’s to say I can’t kill you all right now?” The blonde beamed. His leg kicked as he tried to hold himself up, the pain of him being somehow suffocated by his awkward positioning meriting a grunt for breath. “Who’s to say I can’t?!” 

The look of the peoples in the tavern would tell as if they were witnessing Satan incarnate. Some held onto their religious-worn necklaces. 

“What makes you think that I am not withholding destruction? I am the chosen one! You only think the jotunns are long gone! You know nothing!” His eyes scanned around the room, an eerie smile cutting through his face. He had to play into this nightmare. Maybe he could plead insanity as well, if he was unsuccessful here. 

One of the men let go, and he sat up just slightly, though he got firmly pinned back against the table by the other oppressor. He slammed his own fist against his chest a few times, his lips pursing in graveness as he read the room. “Who started this and shattered your world? I did!” He pulled himself up again in defiance, his eyes rooting into the man who now slowly stepped back, abandoning any more effort to hold him down. “I am the reason you have no mothers! I am the reason your children are dead!” He propped his palms against the corner of the table and wearily carried himself up straight. “And I, too, have the luxury of being called your savior! You have no more destruction- because of me!” 

He spat some blood onto the floor. “I am your god.”

A weak breath exited, but because he seemed weak, crazed, and abysmal, did the people take him seriously. He had become unpredictable. He had always been unpredictable. That is where his true power lied. “I am the image of all of you- all of what you have ever wanted in your life.” The only sounds that emanated from the tavern were the sounds of his shoes now creaking against the planks of the floor. He made sure to pierce a good look at all the people. “Let me go, and you will live.” He pulled his hand into his pocket and pulled out the shaving knife he still had handy, and he pressed it to his palm, looking as if he were about to take part in the ritual he had done so many times before. 

It was a long shot, but perhaps he could play into the ignorance of the people. People were sheep and could conspire about anything if given the chance. A few people ran out of the tavern, hearing only the stories of how the half-people, half-titans could shift at their will of bloodshed. 

Without a word of exchange, it became apparent that they were to let him go.

 He had to leave now before the police were to arrive. That could be any minute, but as he was just about to pick up his things and leave, his body still battered and worn but held so straight in triumph, his eyes froze onto someone staring at him.

Someone who looked familiar to him. A girl. A girl he stayed up thinking about in his lonely nights and only but dreamed of. A friend who understood him, and who he'd gladly kneel fealty over. 

Janette.

[14846]

Chapter 7: Battered and Bruised

A lone farmer and daughter were riding in their horse-drawn covered wagon toward the interior. With the bounds of cash money Reiner still had, he offered a portion to the pair in exchange for a ride to their destination. It was an easy success, and the large male was stuffed in the back of the covered wagon where the farmer’s daughter rested during the night. An awkward situation, to say the least. Being the same age as this other individual did not make his case rest easy, and not on any premise that he took interest in her, but rather another one. Two young people who should be enjoying life in a city, making friends, drinking and being merry, stuffed in the back of a wagon trying to survive in two different situations. She wouldn’t stop looking at him, and it made him uncomfortable. He probably would have as well if a stranger camped by him almost unannounced. 

She slowly handed him a blanket with no words interchanging between them. It would be rude to not accept, so he did, and carefully he wrapped it around his shoulders and leaned back against the frame of he cart. There was a sort of comfort and safety that the farmer and daughter managed to create for him. He could tell in this occurrence, that they were a strong family. They had been through thick and thin together, and it must’ve been, in another sense, much worse than anything he had endured. The amount of answers that these people had never gotten. Answers that he only could tell. The government secrets, the wars, the way the world functioned. He opened his mouth but then closed it. Maybe these people weren’t as ignorant as he thought.

He could not sleep, and in a way to try to make the situation more comforting to the lady by him, he closed his eyes and pretended to doze. He was still in high gear from the leaf he held so dearly in his bag. Oh, how wonderful it was. It helped him so much, and even with his sanity. He knew it needed to go, and he was proud of himself for not taking nearly as much as he did a few days ago, but it was really nothing in the large scheme of things. He did not dare to count how many more leaves of the dwindling package he had were left. 

By the light of the sun piercing through the veil of the covered wagon, his eyes finally fluttered open in the act of sleep. The lady had so obviously lulled off, and so in order not to disturb her, he slowly scooted over toward the opening of the butt of the  wagon to peer out. They were well within the once interior sector of the walls. In a town, too. He had to hop off. He quickly and foolishly tucked his body to form against outside of the wagon and peered his torso to face the direction of the front of the wagon. The top of the head of the farmer told him that perhaps he was within earshot of the older man. “Mister- hey! I should be getting off now!” His hands clutched and almost tore against the fabric that was curved over the barred frame of the roof of the wagon as it hit a bump. He definitely did not make himself look intelligent. Nor did he even realize that the sound of his yelling could potentially awaken the slumbering girl a yard away from his legs.

The farmer pulled on the reins and allowed for the horses to draw to a stop, and the burly blonde fumbled off over the edge. He felt his feet meet with the stony floor, and he passed around the front of the wagon and exchanged a good-bye with the older man. A mutual benefit for the two of them. 

Reiner felt like an infiltrator. The more and more he spent on the island, the more he realized that he was never going to be able to assimilate himself. His heart felt empty and sullen as he felt his shoes fair beneath the stony road. He would have to find another way to Janette’s tavern. It was in the next town over, a close enough venture that he was thankful enough to get so close to. But now it was dangerous. Now it was all upon the luck the Jotunns might be able to spare onto him if he could make it. A wanted man out in the open, dragging his feet without a weapon. No weapon other than the beard shaving knife. He still failed to keep the hair on his head in order. 

He could only keep. Moving. Forward. The beat of his heart became the rhythm and pace set for his venture. The rumbling and verbiage coming from other people, some even trying to stop him to try some samples of store-fronted goods were ignored. A man gone. A man away from his people. A man run wild except for the thought of trying to find his place in this ever changing world. 

He had managed to take some rations of food from the Inn’s provided breakfast and keep it in his bag. This bag was starting to look much more like a horrible make of craftsmanship by the day, but it still worked. The blonde would extract some bread from the bag and pick at it as he kept walking, all in hopes that it’d be enough once he was able to reach his terminus.

The thrill in his eyes, and a falter of the way his legs gave in to beg for not another step to be taken, and Reiner could see the town he so desperately longed to get back to. He had not been there since the day of his arrest, as he had been transferred from this location straight to a hospital by the prison far off in some sort of vertical trajectory. 

It was still vacant, even when the sun was just hardly settling. This time of day was so inviting for the youth to go in celebration for another day over, but it was unnerving as he stepped into desolation. There was some ash strewn about. It had fluttered from closer within the interior, it seemed. He picked up the pace, suddenly feeling his bones prick and tremble for what he was about to see. 

It was like his first night within these grounds was a premonition for this sight. The embers of fireworks were now embers of fallen flames. The closer he got up the road, the more heat he could feel buzzing into his skin. The thicker the ash got, the closer he was approaching toward the tavern. 

A loud pop brought him out of sorts, and the hazel-eyed man had no possible way out except to flinch. This nightmare was real. The time between now and his first, fateful night in the premise was absolutely nothing but a straight line of day and night. The promise of destruction was inevitable.

He looked down at his shoes, and they had become ashen and white. It started to cake onto his face, and the man had absolutely no choice but to spit in his hand and clear his eyes. Would there still be people rioting in the area? Or had they moved on? What was the news? Obviously the town he had just been in earlier had not been affected. Was he too blind to notice any fluttering ash around the previous town grounds? Had the envokers of his damage been captured and criminalized? His eyes burned so bad that there must’ve been streaks of tears that had stained down his cheeks.

What a horrible cavale this had ended up being. How had it felt like so long since he had been arrested, and yet so soon that he could still feel the heat of embers ablaze further within the interior? Could it be that fire could last longer than even the sorrow he felt in his cell? His hazel eyes kept forward with piercing resilience despite the horrible, shaky feeling he felt at any noise that came through the empty streets.

It felt like a perfect opportunity for an ambush. He didn’t know why he was so stupid to walk so clearly in the center of a road, but perhaps if he had accepted this paranoia of his, he would’ve been too scared to even move an inch further. His feet hurt so bad now, his shins aching in splints that had never healed. He’d have to stop very soon to massage them.

His surroundings started to look familiar to him, and with a shaky hand, he cleared another wave of ash that blurred over his face. He begged his body to keep going, and perhaps it was a sorry sight to see. A stupid boyish man being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be; let alone his current existence of being a convict. What a shame. The tavern was within sight, and in a last quick gate, Reiner found his arms pulling at the doors. They were locked. What was he expecting? A warm welcome?

A window? The back door? He just about looked everywhere and had to reluctantly make do with the window option. He had to meander around the street for a while, possibly looking like a lunatic, but at least he was alone for all his knowledge. He found a stone of the road that had been slightly dislodged, and for about ten minutes Reiner finished the job of freeing it from its cemented brethren. He heaved it up, walked it over despite the pain that shrieked and cried from his shins. He swore with every step he was losing control with the nerves that connected to his feet. It meant no matter, and he raised the stone up and tossed it toward the front window, right where he sat that first night when Janette took him in. The stone shattered the glass, and it sent shards sprawling all over the inside and onto the table and chair he once sat in peacefully.

A horrible thing. The damage and happiness that he felt guilty over. Because of foreign people like him, there was a need of disagreement within the peoples of Paradis. Because he had went against what Eren wanted, he was demonized. He had caused this disparage among these innocent people. 

He had no blanket to cover up the shardeed window, and so he had to brave his body over the torture of knives raking against him as he crawled over and through the broken window. It tore his body, but it was something he’d do all over again if it meant he could be an inch closer to Janette.

And like so many times mentioned before. He was a warrior. He was a soldier. Deep inside he still held that latter title close to his heart. But now this was no home for him. He reminded himself that he was the first one to cause the destruction that these poor people endured. He had long come to some closure for it, but the reality of it was still so galvanizing. 

The noise of groaning surprised him, and at first he was confused until he realized it was coming from himself. He looked down and saw that he had gashed himself pretty good right below his bottom rib, and the pain that surged was a bit delayed until now. By far, this was the worst panty-raid that he had ever been on. A panty raid. What a horrible joke that he shunned his mind away from. That was something he’d think of when he was what? 17? Why now? He blamed the coca leaves. 

His body became numb to just about any further effort. This adventure was starting to get tiring, and he just felt about ready to lay down and finally hit some sleep. The big sleep. Not the kind that happened when someone died, but the kind that happened when you were awake for days on end. He also blamed the coca leaves. He rested a hand on his new, bothersome wound, and went behind the counter where he knew a first-aid kit must’ve been kept. He remembered because one day Janette had gone around and grabbed him a bandaid when he had gotten a splinter. A mere splinter and his poor friend initiated such tender care to it. His heart fuzzed over but then broke in deep, furrowing cracks. He ruined it.

He found the kit and opened it up, his hands becoming comically more shaky as he realized how deprived of subsistence he had become throughout this whole time. He lifted his shirt, and suddenly his eyes wavered. Salty water hit against his chest, pants, and shoes. What a pathetic man to be crying now. He invoked pain yet again, because the ash started to mix and bleed into his eyes. He couldn’t even wipe it away because of how filthy his hands had become. It wasn’t the pain of his wound that made him like this.

He had endured like he had felt the pain of every backstab of every individual he had ever betrayed in his life. Someone like Reiner could spiral, and though he was strong -real strong- he couldn’t help but slip once and awhile. He just wanted to be so selfishly taken care of again like when Janette put that bandage around his finger. More importantly, he wanted to be able to take care of her. He had done a horrific job at proving that. 

At first he leaned forward to try and allow the tears to fall straight from his eyes and prevent any ash from further mixing and sweltering into his eyes, but then the pain from his stomach made him stop. It was because of this bend, though, that he was able to see something different. A piece of paper, covered in ash- possibly why he didn’t see it to begin with- a few feet away tucked under a bottle of champagne. It was because of his slight bend that he was able to see the curvature of paper underneath some blown over ash from the outside. 

He would have to see to it after he fixed himself up. Something drew him close to the folded paper, and he quickened his teary eyes around his laceration and did the best he could given the training he had remembered and materials offered. It was by far a jerry-rigged cover, but it gave his mind some peace. He finally allowed his shirt to lay over the rest of his torso, and he wiped his stained hands over it. 

He carefully extracted the folded paper, his heart somehow thudding almost out of his chest as he peeled it open. 

—

Reiner, I went home. I don’t know if you will ever even find your eyes on this paper, but it’ll help ease my heart that I made the effort. I’m sure you are aware of the warnings of evacuation.  My mother insisted I go home to the farm in Klorva until the government allows us back.   Maybe this is my way of saying good-bye. My father called me stupid for writing this, but I don’t think he understands.  Maybe one day I will be wrong and see you again.

— cliche but true.

There was nothing the blonde could do but close his eyes. He felt like he had just received the classroom lecture of a lifetime and just needed the sleep in order to be able to absorb all of the information. As much as he just wanted to curl up in the bed provided in the tavern, he knew it could not be good for his lungs or body to stay in such a hazardous location. He needed to leave. His heart practically bellowed before he could even create a coherent thought that he must go to Klorva. He’d be able to see her again.

Priority. His priority was just to ask for forgiveness for leaving her behind. He froze. His feet wouldn’t move any further. What did he do that would deserve any more kindness from her? He had done absolutely nothing at all so far. Everything that had just happened was so within the realm of his doing- his rut. He did not deserve another chance, but in that.. There were miracles. Was it wrong of him to hope for such a thing?

Before any more thoughts could enter his mind, as men tended to allow their heads to go rather blank, he was outside again. Thankfully unlocking the door from the inside was a beautiful tactic instead of having to falter over the broken window again. His mind was in a doozy. His legs were hurting, and the tears that welt over his eyes were dry and apparent in some sick mockery of the lines that were once drawn around his face every time he had become human again and abandoned his titan form. 

A creek on the far outskirts of town allowed him to begin to seek some rest, finally a time where his body was cheering on for some relief. He had to move at it slowly, because as he learned in times of previous encounters with similar problems, stopping too quickly could do more damage than good. He paced, slower, then even slower, and then finally stood stationary. He wanted to keep damage control to an absolute minimum, and so he refused to even allow himself the pleasure of sitting until he was absolutely sure he could handle it and be able to get up in the morning. However, a noise of movement nearby prevented him from continuing his catch of eventual sleep.

He was too slow to turn with the agility he was supposed to be promised at this age, and despite having a build as a defensive-positioned football player, an unsuspecting tackle from the back did enough to knock him down on his already defeated, weak shins. 

Battered, beaten, and bruised. All three things he had suffered time and time again from being the shield of Marley. Ironically, he simply did not have much more stamina to even be much of a shield for himself in such an isolated moment. However, he managed to somehow form his arms in such a way where he blocked the blow of landing on his head, and the blonde managed to turn accordingly once the weight shifted off of him. He was quick with a punch, not even knowing who this new foe of his was.

It had landed. Easily and hard. Whoever it was tried to land another blow, but it was in such desperation that Reiner had an easy advantage. This person was nothing compared to him in size, and with one, horrifyingly sore kick from his own end, the other went flying a few feet back straight onto their back. Reiner found himself quickly back on his feet, and even taking a few steps back with some cautious looks around for good measure. 

His eyes adjusted and followed over the smaller frame of his attacker. No doubt some young prick who tried to thieve over the wrong person. At first reaction he was sure he had been found by some police. This was becoming ridiculous, but the author suspects his lack of capture must have to do with the remaining livelihood of Reiner being connected with the Plot Armored Titan. 

The person was motionless, and at first this worried Reiner until a few steps forward confirmed that the other was still breathing. He shook his head and pulled some cash out of his bag and neatly laid it over the poor sop's chest. May they find some solitude. 

Too much for rest. He stuffed another bit of leaf in his mouth and continued onward.

[14846]

Chapter 6: Chase the Moon

The roaring night of an appalling storm. The shower of sleet from the heavens cast down as if a last cry from Ymir was to be shed over her beloved King Fritz. The earth below the view of his barred imprisonment was slushed and not properly catered toward the blatant erosion it was causing. The wind blasted his face through the bars, but his eyes carried on toward the miles ahead of land that was sure to draw him to the people he loved. Some way, all very soon, he’ll be able to chase the moon and feel his boots beneath the earth again. War with himself in the small brick room drew him to the poor decisions and amalgamations of his past. 

Some day. Some way. All very soon, he’d be able live long nights going where he wanted to. The soldier’s hands had clung to the barred window to the outside, a poor testament to his conditions. He had failed to maintain his hair, and the clothes on his back he was given upon his right were frayed and faded. He had to leave his shoes on his bed, because even now, as the rain poured into the foundation of the prison, the water had found its way inside and was flooding where he stood. 

He was ashamed. What had his mother thought about him now? Would she think he was dead? It was her face he wore. They had wronged each other, as he’d refuse for her to take all the blame for their familial wrong-doings. He could not give her another heart-ache. 

The cold metal of the bars stung into his palms, but it did nothing, and not nearly cause a flinch to his posture. Was he holding onto the fear or faith in his situation? Fear of punishment and therefore possible death? Or faith that he’d be successful and carry his legs onward toward freedom? He felt cynical. His fingers wavered against the bitter hazard of the bars, and he finally let go. A step back soaked his pants and plastered them further to his ankles. 

A turn of his head, and his eyes met with Elias, who was waiting expectantly. On the other side of the bars, a guard stood with a set of keys, and with a whipped movement, the door opened slowly against the flooded grounds. 

Guard duty had been slowly diminishing due to recent city tax cuts, and Emanuel’s connection happened to be a guardsman. It had turned out to be upon further conversations between the trio of Elias, Reiner, and Emanuel, that Emanuel’s cousin was owed a favor from the guard. Reiner happened to maintain his luck by joining Emanuel’s cavale by paying him the small fortune he had been raking up. The money was something he’d never be able to repay to Elias. The problem at the time was that the guard had not been stationed at this prison, so it took a month for the man to get a proper transfer request considered and moved. It was an easier process, however, due to the shortage of staff and lack of available salary to them. 

There couldn’t have even been a goodbye between Reiner and Elias. They just offered each other a nod and Reiner continued his way on taking his first steps of freedom. The guard ushered Reiner along and intercepted Emanuel’s cell. Reiner suddenly took notice of the guard’s shoulder which strapped a leather sack. He handed it over to Reiner’s fellow escapee with a few, quiet words of consideration. Reiner could not hear their exchange. They were both cuffed and led outside after a confirmation of the sentry duty being absent due to a switch in shifts. A fatal error for them to their superiors. Freedom.

They were released in the dark side of the prison, and because there was a heavy set of rain acting as a beautiful cover, the two were able to muck their way through their planned route. They were told to run and not stop, not for a few miles at best. This would confirm a much safer distance when it would be noticed of their absence. At their first checkpoint stop, Emanuel and Reiner stopped in some undergrowth. They had stuck running in the brush along some roads so they could not be spotted. 

“Reiner,” the accented, strong, and well-kept man said. They still didn’t know each other too well. “We are splitting from here.” This shocked the blonde, who was unaware of the change of plans. In desperation, he paid close attention to what the other was doing. The man started to shrug off the bag he carried, and shoved it toward the blonde. Why he didn’t hand it over sooner was beyond Reiner’s understanding. “You must keep going further and further away from the interior. It’ll lessen the chances of the dogs finding you. There are leaves in here-” the man tugged the bag back toward his own chest and unveiled some dried, normal-looking leaves to the blonde. “They’ll help you stay awake- just one at a time.” The man stuck the stash back into the bag and held it over for the burly man to take again. 

“What are they?” “Coca leaves.”  “Are you not taking any?” Reiner took the bag and held it closed tight so the rain wouldn’t start soaking into it. “No. I have connections just a mile from here that will take me to my family. You need to go and find yours now.” A look between the two was a tragic betrayal for Reiner. Why the plans had suddenly changed so violently stabbed him.  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Reiner,” the other said flatly, his thick accent not losing the blonde in the slightest. “I could not risk trusting you all the way- and besides, if any guards heard us, they’ll have the wrong idea of how to find us now.”  The pair looked at each other for a good moment, and soon Emanuel put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Go home.” And with that, Emanuel was gone, escaping through the thicket in a path that only he must’ve known.

—

Reiner must’ve been walking for a long time, because he found his legs aching horribly. He must've become atrophied since he started his sentence. A sentence that had never been fully concerned to him. He had his court date a few times, in a private room. A horrible attorney, crooked illusions of promises to get him out of this mess. He did not even bare his mind to think about it now.  His knees fell against the stony rubble of a crooked creek, a land he was sure it was to cause some sort of gash to his legs. He cupped his hands into the stream and held it close to his lips, taking anxious gasps of water as his eyes darted around his surroundings. To any peering eyes, it would be no question that he looked like a convict. 

It hurt to get up, and a falter of his shoes against the pebbles told him that he was growing weary and tired. A reluctant hand reached into the leather bag, and he pulled out one of the aforementioned leaves and chewed on it, and it didn’t take long for him to become aware of the effects. 

A couple tweaks of his neck, a wave of awareness, and a lack of sleepiness was a considerable trade off. He’d never had such a thing before, and for some reason, his ignorance ignored the fact that this leaf was quite literally a drug counterpart of the more well-known practiced drug the audience may know and understand. With all the luck he was favored, he heard no sound of dogs after him, nor any word from any voice that may have been looking for an escaped convict.

By dawn of the next day, he figured he needed to have a change of clothes, and as the sleeting rain cleared from the sky, it became more apparent how out of place he seemed. Reiner, was now a disheveled, blonde, larger yet worn man, with red- light-sensitive eyes.

A few carriages passed by along the road he was following along, but none took the commitment of discerning any judgment on him. Needless to say this trope of events was quite literally blessed for  him given the circumstance. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before word caught on, though. A trek down the very unfamiliar part of Paradis was not in his favor, and he found himself chewing on more leaves than he liked. A grove of empty trees cleared in his path eventually, and far beyond one hundred yards did he see a town that looked out of sorts just like him. A perfect match. 

He did not take the ground, earthed-up road. Instead, he slid down a couple of shallow ravines to the side, and entered the village like a route for a siege by vikings. Scraped, hammered, high, and perhaps a little berserk was not an incredible first impression for these unaware people. He folded his arms to himself, his bag stuffed against his chest as if it were his prized possession. A man possessed, sticking to the sides of buildings to shade himself from any prying eyes. 

He was not proud. There was no pride splintering out of him, or what he used to be. He was no soldier. He was obviously no warrior of any sort anymore. His shoes were worn thin by this point, as he had been wearing them for too long for days to count. By the Jotunns, he was still amazed and fascinated to be alive, but now the trajectory of this fascination was lying a bit too close with the excitement that close-encounters with death brought. He spent sleepless nights laughing to himself, chewing more liquid cheer into his veins. Life became so much more than living for others, and now it had just become about himself. He was the righteous one to solely focus on. Emanuel advised him to go home, but maybe home was an entirely different entity than somewhere like Marley? 

The thought captivated him. Home became a metaphor. Home became this high thought that tore him away from the fears of dogs tearing him apart, or arms grabbing and dragging him to the guillotine. 

—

He deemed himself dead. Dead to everyone, dead to his friends. Dead to Janette and his mother. He had already been long dead to his father. May he rot, the blonde thought. Selfishly, he stuffed more bits of leaf in his mouth and occupied himself in an alley, preserving his presence in secrecy away from civilization mere yards away. He nabbed his fingers into the rest of the bag, the thought not even previously splintering slightly into his mind. He was too captivated by the good feelings that only one particular item in that bag gave him. There was some paper, and he buttoned his calloused hand around it and skirted it out of the leather bag. A letter. 

He lowered it back into the bag and teetered his gaze over toward the street. What had he done?

–

His arms expanded over to his sides, his body forming in perfection to accept anything that might come to him. It was terrorizing, the eyes of the men and women grasping onto his form as he looked like he was about to hug hell in a warm embrace. A tyrant in their eyes. A man of perpetual danger. He was man, the form of a human being, yet encased in the psyche, a devil. He was no more devilish than the people around him, and yet he was the evil one. Above toward the heavens fell the sharp spears of bowed arrows. Hell had never felt so heavenly to him. ~

He awakened in an inn, the letter opened by his side. He had become the dumbest man in existence. It was addressed to him by his comrades. In summed detail, Elias had actually been an individual used by them. As it had turned out, the government denied any access to him, and so in a plan devised by Armin Arlert, the once commander of the disbanded Scout Regiment, they hired Elias to commit a crime, and so carefully made sure he was imprisoned where Reiner was taken. It worked. At first Reiner was so upset that he was not aware of Elias’ connection to his friends, but the more he read the written explanation in the letter, the more he understood. It was all in case any information would slip. There could be no trace of Elias’ origin, or anything that tied up to his comrades as it would certainly be a poor round of events for them. The money Elias had given him was actually from them. The bastards. 

A high devil he was, finally able to fall asleep for only a mere ten minutes as he attempted at stopping the beautiful leaf that occupied his existence. A weaning off of such a thing was sure to be in order if he could manage it. He had bought some clothes from a pawn shop, and bought his way to stay a night in an inn at the far edge of town. Perhaps he had a look of some dignity now. 

He pried his heavy, worn legs onto the firm wooden floor beneath him, and packed the druggish leaves and letter into his bag. But before he made any effort to move further, he fashioned his hand toward the nightstand and grabbed a knife from its counter. It had spotted him kindly in the pawn shop, and with it came a small shaving kit. He tripped over toward the dresser and mirror compartment of his room, and carefully bowled some water into the small, hand-held cauldron of the hardened shaving concoction. He whirled it around with the shaving brush and painted it onto his bearded face. It had to go, for now. He was sure it would grow back out again before he had a chance to be in a comfortable enough area to shave it off again. 

Eventually, he carried himself out of the inn in a much more presumably fashion than he had entered it in, and it wasn’t long before eyes of curious people sought after his figure as he exited. They had been wondering when he had entered, not confusing him with the poor scoundrel who had first entered the inn before. 

He hadn’t felt more alive. This was a new start. Maybe it was the coca running through his body, but by damn he was on a totally different level. Perhaps now it was time to start to find a new trajectory. Finding a new home for his crazed mind was one, another was to stop sucking the life out of this plant in his pocket, and the last was to reunite with the people he cared most about.

The thrill was not gone. He needed to make things right. Where was he to go first? He didn’t know where his friends were, and there was a chance that they weren’t even on the island anymore. He had to find a home base. Janette. 

Well, he didn’t know where she was, as most of the people in that interior town were evacuated given the circumstances of the violent riots that ensued after his arrest. The riots. He had not thought about what had actually happened within the few steps that entered into that part of Paradis. He had become so selfishly unaware of his surroundings, so captivated by his vanity of survival, that he did not consider another thought for the girl he once wanted to be so near. His friend. The blonde just about slapped himself at the thought. He couldn’t use her just to find his other friends. She must’ve, by all counts, disregarded him by now. He couldn’t just show up given the chance he even find her, and ask her alone for forgiveness. 

But she deserved some closure. He just disappeared one day without a word, and he knew he would always feel guilty for it. He could’ve found a way to send her a message, that was certain. He was given so much more money than needed, a way to bribe any soul into doing anything. And yet, he refrained. The insurmountable power he had gained within those brick, prison walls. He had gained nothing smart other than being a pawn in a community of thieves and worse. He was embarrassed. He was ashamed. He let it get over his head and was so construed of her opinion of him being behind bars. He became selfish on his own image instead of caring about her own well-being. He didn’t deserve the forgiveness, but he should offer it to her. It was all he could do.

He didn’t know how he was going to do it, considering he was a wanted man, but he needed to go to Janette’s family tavern, even if she wasn’t there. Maybe he could find some answers if she was okay. He would leave when the moon would appear in the sky.

[14846]

Chapter 5: Cage

Reiner had gotten used to the damp, brick interior of his new domicile. The flex of his hand told him he'd been here for long enough to see his knife wound start to scar over (his most recent wound was unreadable as it was still covered with gauze). He would think over this human ability over and over again, but for the sake of this story, perhaps it's not necessary to peel the audience over the reason again.

A guard had told him the first night he arrived in his prison cell, after he had been long treated for his wound, the stakes of his commitments to jail. It was unlawful behavior, for taking part in physical harm and further eliciting bodily anguish onto another person. There was supposedly discussion if they'd count him as an accomplice to what they worded as the riot. It had currently been growing so out of hand, that now officials were disseminating warnings of evacuation for citizens in the relative area. Reiner did not know to what extent.

It would be neglectful to not mention how the hazel-eyed man's first thoughts bolted to his friends. Most importantly, and unashamedly if he should mention, Janette. He had known his comrades enough to be in confidence that they were most likely handled correctly. And in a general synopsis as he slowly discovered, his military friends were not in trouble. They were guided away in mature fashion, and it so happened to be that it was the security guard's first duty assignment attempting to guide Reiner to safety. A horrible luck of the draw, and by all means necessary, Reiner mulled over it quite a bit.

At first he was angry about the whole thing. The conspiracy of having him judged as an accomplice to what was now being featured as an act of potential terrorism. The fact that his friends were safe, but not him. The lack of contact he had to the outside. How he wanted to shake some hurt to the poor security guard who failed him. Where was that poor excuse of a security guard, anyway? He had heard nothing from the fool, and he assumed it was because of the insurmountable guilt of failing his first mission. He wouldn't be able to look Reiner in the eyes. Reiner only knew half of the story. 

He had to draw out his thoughts, and slowly the resentment of the situation faded as the days longed into weeks, and from there he lost track of time. His poor girl must've thought he'd abandoned her. He was woefully pitiful through his escapades of missing her. He'd turn and curl in his given bed, hug himself and bare his fingers into his arms out of shame. If there was the phrase of crying, shitting, and puking, Reiner would've used it. He was sure he lost her. For some reason these were the first ruminating thoughts. He became so selfish that all worry of even where she was, or if she was okay had been deserted. No. It was hope. He had so much faith in the idea of her being completely fine, that he took no more worry. He just became piss poor thinking he could not be okay with her. That fairytale in his mind was the only thing keeping him clear in conscience.

It wasn't until about the third week that he accepted in religious faith that he'd escape. Nobody was coming for him. He had no visitors, and he found no home in the jail within the island of Paradis. It was a sorry excuse to not be a Prisoner of War by this point. Civil disputes were a heavy matter. His conclusion for the idea of escape lulled from his intonation of being a scout. A heavy realization that he accepted. He started to mental note habits of the area around him. When guards would switch, which fellow inmates had special privileges, and much more of the same realm. 

His cell neighbor, Elias, would entertain some information during the little freetime inmates would share in the courtyard. The bastard was brilliant, but short, unappealing, and covered by a thick layer of glasses over his eyes. Might I say that perhaps that isn't as unappealing after all. Elias came aware quickly of the soldier's need to escape. He wasn't sure if he could trust this once stranger, but after some time it meant no difference to him. Any level of betrayal would mean no difference to him. It was either escaping, or not.

—

“I think Emanuel has a connection, Reiner.” The short, brown-haired man said one day in the courtyard.  “What kind of connection?” “The kind to buy freedom.” The two argued about why Elias would not join him in an escape. Truth be told, Elias claimed he was too old for that debauchery. Ironically, the blonde wondered if his physical age matched Elias’ after assuming the power of his titan for so long.  “Would Emanuel be able to divvy up a share of freedom to an idiot like me?” The conversation was short-ended after that. Maybe the question seemed too rhetorical, but for whatever reason Reiner dropped It. The two robotically found their worn clutch of grass by the chained fence that enclosed them from the outside, and got to playing cards. 

Elias was the only kind person in the prison, the soldier assumed. He didn't know what the older man saw in him, but there was something fatherly in his behavior. Reiner never knew that his familial sore spot could potentially be so easily seen. He could never figure out why, when they'd eat or be outside playing cards, that the man would slip him some cash to get by. At first, Reiner’s heart sank as he assumed the old man wanted a sexual favor in exchange for the cash, but it was when Elias expounded he wanted nothing in return for it, did Reiner just slightly believe him.

He still rejected the money, at first. It wasn't until he got scammed by a senior inmate and didn't have any money to pay in resolution did he find himself at utter ends. He had nothing. No paper, no pencils, no extra privilege. Not until Elias insisted. Reiner was still convinced in the back of his mind that the other wanted to shag in the public showers, but the need from Mr. Glasses never came. Reiner hid his money in his shoes, pillow, and just about anything that he had ownership over. They never questioned it, and Elias never wanted any thanks. The whole thing made absolutely no sense to the blonde.

“You need to get that hair on your face shaved. You're starting to look like a scoundrel.” A card tossed in the center pile. Reiner didn't even remember what the game was called. “And your head,” he added. Reiner joined a card in the center and eyed Elias in amusement.

“I don't know. I think the ladies like it.” What ladies, where? There were none to be seen in this facility. Janette surely wouldn't, would she? She wouldn't want him now. She must've found someone else after he assumed he broke her heart. Elias interrupted his thoughts.

“For someone known to have helped save the world, you surely don't get any visitors.” The confirmation of his thoughts stung, but the other made no look of discernment as another card was tossed into the middle pile. There were so many questions unanswered. Nobody had come to see him. He had gotten zero letters or any kind of message to reveal the state of his friends. He assumed the worst. Had they given up on him? He tried. He thought he did the right thing. He wanted to prove to them- that's how he even ended up in this prison. The thoughts were not worth his time. Survival was key here.

The whistles blew, and it was time to be a dog again, rotting and leashed.

[14846]

Chapter 4: Life and Blood

Everytime the soldier drew blood he would get emotional. Drip, drip, the scarlet painted down onto the grass by his boots. Pinned against the tree in casual sitting form, Reiner kept himself diligently looking down at the mess in his hands. He had cut himself, and after three years [going on four] of losing the ability to snap into titan form through this power of blood, he still hadn’t gotten used to being so careful with knives. Jean had made himself useful by the fire, busy occupying himself with the bottle of booze he met in matrimony with for the past twenty minutes. Armin was inside Historia’s cabin, oddly enough also making himself useful to whatever important conversations were to be had. Reiner, though coming very close with his Paradis comrades, had still failed to ultimately fit in with the political business of the island. He wasn’t much of a politician, anyways, and he never got offended. 

Jean had insisted they camp by the fire for a few more hours, and Reiner had a bottle or two too-much for his liking. His cheeks were a bit pink, and with the warmth he felt hovering over his head, he decided that he shouldn’t have any more alcohol for the night. However, that stray of coherent thought was lost when he found his hands buttering over a stick with his pocket knife. 

“Ah shit,” the blonde’s voice wavered ever so quietly to not alert his vain friend. His teeth bared together and he felt his lips purse upward to form a frown. Good thing it was dark. Sure, it was painful, but being able to see life burst through his skin and not ultimately iterate toward a 2000 year old curse was beautiful. It reminded him how lucky he was to have peace, to have his friends, and to be able to live in the memory of those who could not join him today. He did not cry this time. Janette had seen him do that and it was enough embarrassment for him to endure for the next several months straight. 

—

A similar situation had occurred the last time he’d been with his girl. He was a bit curt about their relationship to his friends, but deep inside he knew that he was just about smitten with her. Jean did not need the details to recognize how distracted the burly man became anytime something about Janette came up. It was strange to the mullet-coiffured friend. Coming back to Paradis, everyone expected the blonde fool to trip his way to Historia, but one look at her husband and he backed off. Nobody even asked why, because there wasn’t ever a reason to ask in the first place. Obviously he had become self conscious about the situation. In fact, he hadn’t even looked at a girl once until some months later when Janette just appeared out of nowhere. It became so casual, and even Jean had become fond of how polite and caring this girl was. She was stern, but appreciative and oddly selfless.

Reiner had left the interior about a week ago, and his heart still was a sopping mess. This was so horrible. He’d had his share of flings, short-ended and long-ended (somewhat) relationships, and only a few made him feel this way. Maybe it was because Janette made it the forefront to become his friend first. There was nothing entirely romantic about their first date, even. She had even made him laugh. The boy needed some more of that, and Jean couldn’t keep holding that end of the stick alone for much longer. 

—

He’d stop by the tavern in the blinding daylight and walk with her when it was her break. He looked forward to these strolls, and there were only a few reasons he could chalk it up to. Normalcy was one. She had no background in government or military roles (not that it really mattered at the end of the day), but it brought him out of the line of life that he had lived in for a drastically long time. She brought up topics of funny situations within the community, drama with the upstairs neighbor and her husband. How a Mrs. Binnecker was ushering a man away with a broomstick when he asked her daughter on a date. She got in on a lot of the townspeak, considering that she was a barmaid and friendly with all the customers. She made him happy.

In all honesty, he had a hard time visiting at night, because despite their daily strolls becoming more and more personable by this point, he did not have the courage to ask her the official question yet. Did there need to be a question? They had already kissed once- or twice. Maybe he was overthinking the situation, but even then, his guts wrenched anytime he’d find himself around the block and the moon would be out. She never enticed any of the men who visited her bar, he thought, but those same thoughts turned into mere jealousy when they would stray to the image of another man flirting his way into her heart. Did love stories happen at bars? He wasn’t sure- he supposed his story did. She clearly had a soft spot for soldiers, but what about him? Did he mean more? 

He’d known her a good time now. How long was it? Several months, minus the few scheduled shifts from when he’d leave to visit his own home from time to time. Everytime he left he had the immediate fear that she would shack it up with a man she found better than him. He didn’t even think of what that would entail. She didn’t deserve those kinds of impure thoughts. She was a good woman helping her father with his business, working her way to go back to college whenever it was possible. Degrees had become majorly successful now that the whole world had opened up to the island. 

Pushing those brash thoughts away, Reiner entered the tavern in his usual gated fashion, though this time it was just barely becoming dark outside. He already had his walk with her and bought her some food for her break, so why was he coming back? He didn’t mention anything about returning later to her. She was nowhere to be seen, and his heart fluttered and just about sank down into the darkest depths of his chest. He left. Maybe it would’ve been romantic if he stayed maybe five minutes longer to see her coming back from the back door with a couple of crates of booze to restock.

Lucky for her, the working barman caught sight of the man (as again, he stuck out like a sore-thumb in any crowd), and the brunette ran outside to see if she could catch him. Gone. Like a fish who had just nibbled on the bait but did not bite. 

Luckily it was still just hardly 5 o’clock, plenty of time to see what he was up to. It was her turn to drag him out of duty, seeing as she had only done it a couple of times before. She felt bad for him always coming down to catch her on her break, so maybe now when he had obviously been free, maybe she could skip work. She went back inside and grabbed a nice bottle reserved for the more expensive-tasted customers, and she made her way further into the interior.

Considering that she had fetched this boy from his quarters a couple of times in the past, she figured not much would change when it came with her expectations of security in the building. They knew who she was by this point, because even at times when he had taken her from her work-breaks, they had to make a few stops in his room. Most of the time it was because he had forgotten something, maybe a letter or whatnot that he intended to take to the post-office. Every single time they came into the building and waltzed into his room, nothing ever happened. It remained entirely platonic, and honestly his behavior was just increasingly surprising to her. At first glance, you’d look at the man and think that he must’ve been some himbo-coded boy who might’ve compared his cock size to his friends. However, after getting to know him, he rarely set the precedent to such behavior. Well, except for a couple of times. Once, he had obviously trailed behind her with the excuse that his shoe wasn’t fitting right- or was it his sock? The blonde man had shuffled one leg up and toed his sock up his ankle every couple of steps until he lagged just a foot behind her, and after a solid minute of this, he made no effort to return to her flank. At one point Janette did not understand what the whole situation was, even offering a question as to why they didn’t just stop for a second when she noticed that he had been making eye contact with her ass. He tried to make it clearly evident that he was not doing such a thing, and he complied with her question and bent over to ‘fix his sock’. He was so embarrassed that even their conversations were pretty short-ended from there on out for the rest of the day. The second time was when he had kissed her. For being such a polite man, Reiner made the first move and kissed at once before he let her go back to work. He definitely knew how to maneuver his lips around hers, so it could only suggest that he simply had that kind of experience.

Someone opened the entrance door for Janette, and she took a few steps in and waved over to the CQ desk. She assumed it was someone Reiner knew because the female waved back and nodded her head toward the hall where Reiner’s quarters were. Was she even allowed to do this? She assumed so. She recognized the room where the male lived and she politely knocked in courtesy for his own sake. A pause, audible shuffle, and the hazel eyes of Reiner peered from the crack of the door until he lugged it all the way open. His brows were pinched together, eyes piercing down at her from what felt the heavens above (as there was a height difference). The entire pause between them had Reiner feeling self conscious for his room. At least his bed was made? 

“‘Mm doin' laundry, sorry for the mess,” he granted her room to enter. She blinked. There was hardly a mess, but maybe he had become so used to keeping things tidy in the military. A small stack of linens were folded on his desk, and a basket of freshly dumped, warm laundry were waiting to join their folded companions.  “It makes the room smell nice,” she teased, and waved the bottle in the air to show him what she brought to him. Voodoo. He was going to have to hide that. He smiled. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any glasses in my room.”

“We can just drink from the bottle, it’s fine,” Janette answered, adding it on his desk by his stack of clothes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by?” she added, her head tilting to catch what the other was doing. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, somehow looking a bit more tired than normal. She made herself useful and retracted the bottle from the table and took a few steps over, casually shuffling onto the floor and wedging her back between his calves. “You don’t have to sit on the floor, Janette. There’s space up here, and a chair over there,” his head nodded to said lounge chair. She started to twist with the bottle with one hand, and her other grabbed at his forearm and prodded it over onto her head. “Yeah, but I think I’d rather have you play with my hair instead.” He did not argue, and they sat like that for a good while taking turns drinking excruciatingly small sips from the bottle. Maybe he wasn’t the best head masseuse, but it was doing the job. They laughed a couple of times, her more so than the blonde on several occasions. A couple of times his hand intertwined with her hair that she could’ve sworn he was taking a gander at gripping into it. 

There was this unexpecting silence between the two. The both of them knew very well that it was getting to be odd that they were playing this game of cat and mouse. They treated each other like they were the titled ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’, guiding their hands around each other’s own and introducing the other to their own friends. They kissed a few times, slid their hands around a little too inappropriately for a public eye, but never much more. 

She could never tell him that she would touch herself at night when she felt so lonely. It was becoming a bit more agonizing, and the wish that she could meet him in the middle and intertwine into the bed sheets was lulling a bit stronger. She felt so out of place in his room, a nervous pinch sweltering into her chest as she longed to get to know this place a bit better. She was surely wishing desperately on that night star for her sweet prince to come if you know what I mean. They were adults, for crying out loud, but she was feeling more and more like a horny teenager every passing day.

By this point she had made herself comfortably lean back against the side of the bed, Reiner’s thighs posed on either side of her face. The man had resolve, because even now he was still running his hand through her hair. She tried not to take notice of something else resting close by behind her head. Or maybe, she did. She took the excuse to tilt her head back and look up at his face innocently, the back of her head touching against that something else between his legs. He slowly cast his eyes down to meet her gaze, and raised an eyebrow questionably at her. Obviously he didn’t think this was made to be on purpose, and after a couple of seconds he quipped a small smile. They both knew, but neither objected. She noticed that his breaths started to get a little more steady as if it were helping the blood flow remain in his head. 

“Kiss me..?” She asked quietly, a genuine softness to her tone that didn’t suggest anything more. It seemed for his brain to take a second to register her request, but without a verbal answer he slowly bent himself forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. How polite. She murmured another quiet “kiss me”, and he complied with another by her eye. She only mouthed the request a third time and he made himself occupied by planting sweet, small kisses over various points on her face. Her nose, her eyes, her forehead; the corners of her lips, the arch of her jaw. Not once did he slip and extend any of his kisses into something deeper. She became stuck in the moment, and once any part of his face merited close to her own mouth, she’d lip a small kiss of her own in retaliation. Her hand abandoned the bottle and instead found it gently wrapping to Reiner’s hand, and she pulled it and caressed her fingers over the back of his palm. Her fingers tucked between his own and during his parade of soft kisses over her face, and she guided his hand over her collarbone and to her breast. 

The cadence of his kisses did not halter as his digits raked over the fabric rested over her bosom, and slowly he massaged his palm over the ball of her breast, his hand finally gating a gentle grasp around her. That big forearm by her face, that feeling of being surrounded by him, his gentle kisses and welcoming warmth made her feel complete at that moment. A small whimpered sigh escaped through the nook of her lips as she tilted her head away from his and planted a small peck against his arm. The blonde’s face was tilted and watching her; in awe with her. He was captivated and starting to feel that his face must’ve been fully drained by now. In fact, his face was burning so much that it felt that he must’ve had a large band-aid freshly ripped off of it somehow. 

He wondered what she thought of him. He was so apologetic with her, so understanding and soft that she placed him on a pedestal when he was with her. He felt guilty when he'd retreat back to his room and fist himself in bed or the shower. He felt that in those times he became barbaric compared to how he tried to nullify any of that behavior with her. He'd stand alone, dock his hand in place and take it to pound town, so caught up in his head about her that he couldn't rest until every thrust was satisfied. Post nut clarity made him feel like a mess, but he got so used to the red pill that he didn't even question it anymore.

 She noticed that his eyes had left planet Earth. They had become enraptured by her, and she doted on how unmistakable it was. The attention he gave her made her rif her thighs together, only subtle enough for her own satisfaction. He made her feel this way. Every time he smiled at her. Every time he'd tilt his head and speak so softly just for her. The way his forearms looked around anything he did with his hands. The way his pants were always clipped together by a nice belt and how the pant legs hugged around his thighs. How his button-ups were always ironed and tight in all the right places. He looked too fine to be treating her so kind. He never asked for anything, and yet always was on his best behavior. She wanted to tear him all down and mold him back up into her. She wanted to hold him close and allow him access to all of her.

He saw her as a friend, obviously in a different context to how he treated his comrades. A.. really good friend. He loved how serious she would get, how focused her gaze would become and the way her eyebrows pinched together as she listened to people talk. She hated the bar life, and he knew that. She had compiled her plans to attend university later that fall. In all honesty, he was excited for her. What made him self conscious was what he could offer to her. He had no college education. The only thing paying him enough was the government, and luckily due to his rank and rigor, he was paid handsomely. He wasn't sure how the tallies all added up, but he was sure she was just out of his league. She would dress so nice, care about her hair and somehow make herself look so put together. She was normal, and he was not. He might be traveling or taking part in some official business and couldn't tend to her. He had been trying to convince himself that it wouldn't work. Even then just one look at her frame and he'd smother himself down into ash. 

She continued to tap her lips against his forearm. To also continue to make himself useful, he skirted his other hand that was still semi-planted in her hair. He ran it over her shoulder and collarbone a couple of times before he slipped his digits just under the fold of her blouse, just enough to mark a better massage by her neck. A gentle pause, and her head tilted back again to meet with her lover. 

—

Right, the blood. Reiner looked at the once doomed, perilous sky as he sat against the strong tree across from Historia’s cabin. Where had his thoughts gone?

 He’d mentioned what the function of blood was to Janette when it came to Titan shifting. Mainly due to her own curiosity she presented to him that night he was thinking of. In concession to their bedroom flirting, the mood of the room suddenly shifted. The girl sat up and shuffled onto her knees and pivoted to face him. She propped her arms up on his kneecaps and the blonde had no choice but to sit up straight. 

She had noticed he was tired. So naturally she asked “was it hard?” The male blinked, unsure of what she was referring to at first considering she had been deathly close to his crotch. He felt his cheeks flame red until the brunette explained further, having noticed the misunderstanding for herself. “The war? Being a titan?”

Titans. 

“It was just as hard as it was for you to live through.” “I lived in the interior, Reiner.” “Yeah..” A pause, and the blonde’s gaze carried elsewhere in his room. “You lived for so long, half titan,” she looked down and slowly reached for his hand, and turned it upward so his palm was facing toward the ceiling. “I heard-” she raised her other hand and ran her finger down the center of the clutch of his hand- “you had to draw blood to turn into a titan..”

An uncomfortable hazel gaze down to their hands confirmed it for her. So she knew now. A couple of hours later and his friend left with no baggage or success to claim other than another lonely night by herself. 

—

He set the scene in his mind, getting deliriously lost under the stars. A few days before he left..

Reiner made it transparent that he was going to be gone for a few weeks, and Janette practically begged for the lug to hang one last night at the bar. Drinks were on her, she iterated. He couldn’t deny her, but he made no plans on getting intoxicated. 

Janette was working double time as an influx of customers happened to spare their time within the business. A table of buffoons she was serving had made themselves a nuisance, but as always, Janette’s best behavior remained. She carried a tray of booze and cocktails over, and in a way of horrible manners, the bloke scooted his chair back right as she was cornering their table, and the platter went crashing down before she could even begin to think of dispersing their drinks. 

Reiner had been on standby, leaving her to perform her job when she would announce to him her adieu to her customer’s needs. He did not want to buck his way in like some knight in shining armor, but only because she had told him how the buggards had been treating her the entire night did he find his stride quickly encroaching the scene. 

“Hey,” his stern, yet cool voice interrupted his girl’s apologies and the gimmick of comical comments between the drunk men. There wasn’t anything he could do. He had been so used to rolling with the punches and letting them hit him in the past that he still wasn’t akin to confronting personal business. He could hold his own, but this was not the time. He made eye contact with Janette after sweeping his eyes across the table of evident offenders. The sight of the burly man made the intoxicated jokesters quiet down, only slightly snickering once and a while for reasons they couldn’t help. 

Reiner arched his knee forward and planted it against the plank floor and started to pick up some shards of broken glass. At the time, Janette begged for him not to help, but the soldier did not listen. She relented and left to grab some rags and bags to secure the glass fragments, and upon returning they worked together to bag the bigger pieces and clean the crime scene appropriately. A few confident comments from the tabled stragglers were thrown to Reiner, many of the words scoring some sort of ailment of “you suck her dick or something?” or “is princess cleaning?” The customer was always right.

A pinch in his hand told him something had happened during their slander. He must’ve not been paying attention. The pair continued to clean before a few more hands of workers butted in to finish up the job. The entire time of this shift of turns to clean the mess stood the soldier, staring down at his hand with an ever so blank expression. He had cut himself quite deep. Just like how he had failed to be the best head massager, his hands weren’t made for delicately picking up broken glass, either. Blood was drizzling across his palm and he had no choice but to cover it up with his other hand. He couldn’t just admit he was bleeding to his friend, not when there were so many people around them. His nerves got to him, and he felt his face warm up. Damn. He really was the princess..

So lost in thought to a space held so captive in his mind. The soldier was careful to birth the malediction from his hand. The hair stood on the back of his neck, his arms proliferating with lanes of goosebumps. The feeling was the same- that innate sensation where an incredible source of life would bore between the fragmentation of the heavens and hell. The lights around him blurred and conformed in one proper, the glowing orb sore in front of the water laminating over his eyes as he felt every muscle tense. Could he breathe? The pain, exhaustion, and discomfort it took to partake in the sacred 2000 year old ritual. He was the chosen one. A goddess from the deep firmament bestowed this power and divinity into his blood, and every time any spilt in offering, the praxis of worship ensued. If so desired. 

Control.

Hold it back.

It had been too long for him. Control wouldn’t be merited anymore, and accidents could happen. There were gods before the lands, when humans were conceived by driftwood, rolled and formed by the Jotunns. The great giantess Ymir painted their husks in her image, and promise affirmed their being. Generations resulted in reparations for the subjects. Accidents. Their bodies and blood turned to wrath and dishonesty, soon sludging the curse forever. So many souls lost in the paths. His burden.

And like the tugging of his affliction where body meets the mind and spirit; something else. A tug that made his arm lurch forward and reach out above for air. Breathe. He could not. The only exit to his blind lament was to Keep. Moving. Forward. Firm like a dove’s wings berating against the blue above, loose like a soul lost at sea, his heart hung out on the line sliding closer and closer to freedom.

He supposed it was the publicity or the embarrassment, but his eyes cleared as he was being tugged outside. His tear ducts could not catch his blurry vision in time, and the brackish water tapered to the tops of his cheeks and rolled down to meet at his jaw. His un-tugged arm folded and cleaned off the emotional stains before Janette could turn and see him, but regardless, she could tell the blonde male had been teary by the redness in his gaze. She did not expect him to speak, much like the first time she met him. 

She did not need an explanation. She had already known. Titan or not, he was paralyzed by the trouble of war and peace. They were a pair of beer-scented, disheveled individuals on the street. To any scout of the night, it could’ve been reckoned that the duo was an inebriated beau getting disappointedly walked back home by his flame. 

He had come to, enough to walk with a bit more sophistication, and about a few steps in their venture back to his quarters did she finally pause to access his current state. A state of love and trust. His fingers pinched at her sleeve and lightly pulled at the fabric a couple of times. This only made the brunette tilt her head in question, not totally understanding where the man was coming from. Relief. He looked.. Relieved? 

He was saved. By gods, he was saved. He was so lucky to have this life. 

“I embarrassed you,” he said quietly. His thought flinched from relief to the fact that he could’ve just ashamed her in front of her whole business. He didn’t want to imagine how he must’ve looked in his still, pointless panic. There was a deafening pause to their bubble. “I haven’t bled,” he included quietly. “Not like that..” It sounded stupid to any dumb ears, but the translation made it through rather clear. 

Her free hand slid over to the man’s fist that was clutched to her sleeve, and she cupped whatever would fit underneath her grip as she held eye contact. It was enough. She turned on her heel, disengaged with the sentiment as she pulled the man along up the street. He didn’t embarrass her. He hadn’t done a thing wrong, and if this was an incredible relief to him, by gods she wanted to maintain it. 

Time had skipped in their speechless walk where he lived. They were such messes, but they were the youth. There was something so uniquely handsome about this untied feeling the world offered. Reiner could never forget the pain, the suffering, the feelings of when life was a constant panic for him and the other people serving. The constant running, the amount of times that pain had become so prevalent that it was just a part of the contract he served. Another number, another statistic in an upward battle. It was rare for this world to know what true luxury of having a day of no worries was like. 

He was looking forward. He had been given another chance. He couldn't dwell that his world would still be far from perfect, and he couldn't be jealous that maybe the future generations would finally experience what he did not. The only people truly at peace would be the humans who were resting far in the dirt and away. It was only fair for him to continue life for them. He missed Bertoldt a lot.

He unlocked the door for her and allowed her entrance into his dark chambers..

—

He woke up alone. He was forced to flex his fingers after finding they had become incredibly stiff around the temporary wrap he had created around his knife wound. He prepared himself for the day, regretting the pounding ache he felt in his temples. Lightweight. Or maybe the alcohol was unusually strong. He hoped for the latter. 

There was still a divide in the government from the aftermath of Eren Jaeger. When it came to handling a resolution to political disputes between the parties for the republic and the Jaegerists, there would only be short-ended remarks his comrades would make about their fallen, suicidal maniac. He was the same. He had never forgotten. Historia was perfecting the plans for a new proposal: to accentuate the services of the military and to recapitulate the meaning of a unified country. The mission’s time near the interior was heavy in meetings and calculations for an actual, official court date. The civil matter happened to be fine with Reiner considering he could discern a schedule with Janette without much unorthodox conflict. The new government was still very much not what it used to be, and so scheduling conflicts were prevalent until now. 

With Historia’s vouch, the group of war heroes were hoping for a chance to regain the trust and help to ultimately open all services to and from the outside world. It was still incredibly limited, as Reiner later learned, of what Paradis had and had no access to. 

The journey back for the official meeting, and the veterans found themselves advancing toward what sounded like a loud buzzle of noise on the street approaching the court. The driver of their vehicle attempted a slight detour in order to avoid the crowd of a mere small group of pissed people. Against them. There must’ve been some sort of leak for this to start. They were heroes to most people, right? No.. This was the whole point of their mission. Plead their case, build a common cause, and mend together. A bottle slammed into the window, breaking straight through the primitive car’s thin layer of a looking glass, and hitting the driver right in the head, causing a swerve into a shop kiosk nearby. 

Historia warned of something like this happening, but the group was so adamant to remain presentable by some wage of normalcy to prove to the people that they were all the same, created and serving for the same cause. It was a risk Armin was keen on taking, and like many times before, the other blonde’s face was of pure shock as the car crashed into the booth. 

The crash, but no immediate move was made to what Reiner was sure would’ve happened. The soldier vetted that this rage of violence would only merit a further attack against the cornered group. Nobody came, not immediately. The crowd must’ve been shocked after realizing their own power in the situation. Maybe it had been a long time since these people felt the vigor of having any jurisdiction over what happened in their lives in a long time. 

Some yells, evident shuffling and arguing pursued and the group, one-by-one, was pulled out of the car by some government security. The car had made it only 100 yards from the court. Just as soon as the male was jerked out of the car by a firm, helping hand of security, another managed to meet his face at blurry speed. He hadn’t even made it fully out of the car, but now the only way out seemed to be his body meeting flat with the street. The punch managed to contort his positioning and hook his boot into the sidebar of the automobile, and in a horrible sight, he found his shoulder met in first contact against the harsh ground. A kick. Was that a pipe? For the love of the Jotunns, why him?

His hazel eyes pierced into the slow movement. The pride of the wielder. The way his attacker held such a gesture of a god slamming down punishment to his subjects. Their eyes met, and from there Reiner could read everything. There was no need or power of any Titan that could have studied it on his behalf. Distraught, anger, sadness. Most importantly, betrayal. This commoner- or perhaps he, too was a soldier once- felt betrayed. There was a power in his swing. 

They were cursed together. 

His blocking forearm caught a wind of the blow, and thankfully, not so much of the brunt force upon the second swing, because Reiner managed to twist his torso enough in time that the pipe met firm with the street. He wasn't getting any younger, but the blonde ran over this reasoning thousands of times. The devil descent 13 year lifespan he was given alike tended to age the shifter quicker. Not for wisdom or lack of grace, but because of the physical pressure it put on one's bones, one's heart, one's lungs, and one's mind. The very soul would be the only thing to ring in the youth that the body could not account for.

Regaining your youth was simply something Reiner would have little chance to work with. His back ached, but the burly man quipped out his arm and lurched it at his attacker's own leg. A short break in the fight led to a tussle to the ground, pipe long discarded, and both men were grappling for dear life. For what? One perhaps wanted to do a number on the other, one perhaps wanted to hold a restraint but was gaining less and less of an opportunity to play a defensive tactic.

The soldier was going to have to abandon all of his ethics and turn offensive despite the years and years of being affirmed a defensive role. Right. Being placed in the bottom of the tussle was the first matter to deal with. Reiner was restraining the other's arms as his attacker was thrashing and finding any way to reach for their own pocket. It would be over if he allowed that maneuver to happen. 

A millisecond. It was all it took for Reiner to fail, and for the other to free his hand and rush it to his side. Reiner's grip reached for an opening, but like a sick comedy his oppressor managed to take control of the other restrained hand and twist at the lunging grip with such an impounding force that the blonde soldier had no choice but to convulse his knee in the air.

Over. The oppressor pulled a knife unlike any model the hazel-eyed man had seen in Paradis. How was it that such a man of far-right nationalism took part in the opposing foreign expansion that he was so against? The thin curvature of the blade no doubt told him the reason why. It was a special forged hunting knife, and Reiner was the perfect target for its purpose to be utilized. How sickening. Obviously pure nationalism had limits when it came to foreign purchases to this man.

A few kicks in a weak attempt to get the other man off. A bewildering time to remind himself of his mortality. Ironic, how when he could turn to the power of the titans for the immortal strength yet have his life so shortened and limited. Now, when there was no immortal strength, he had to suffer the consequences of potentially dying with the odds of living for much, much longer.

His forearm blocked the resistance. Reiner faced inches away from the tip of the blade, and he swore his pupils were sweltering double vision at how close it was impending. Another grip of the blonde's other hand slapped against his wrist to hold up and maintain the resistance. Now the only thing blocking him from death was the unimpressive box he had shaped with his arms.

The entire time the soldier had been working up his knee closer and closer to their torsos. It had been a terrifying situation for him, because it seemed every inch his boot could chafe and work leverage against the street, the fight would send it back another two inches in their struggle. It was all within plan if he could just succeed. Reiner's planned attack would have to start with just a little movement. With friction on his side, and a questionable, horrifying bump, the other accommodated drastically. Reiner's arms were quick in succession. The oppressing rebel had faltered to maintain balance to Reiner's nudge. The goal was now to keep the blade at its new location: his collarbone. The other did not seem the slightest displeased, as the attempt looked like it had been a poor performance for the blonde to free himself.

 He had witnessed the fighting technique in a few graphic novels he had scarcely found growing up in the Liberio internment camp. Surely pain elsewhere in his body was something he could deal with much better than his face. A release of the tension, and the knife buckled and met with the textile of his greens. The pinch and rip of the threads were inaudible, but the sensation was much louder and sound. The controlled stab was the best resort. In all time sense, the whole thing happened in the span of mere moments. 

The slight release of tension from his attacker due to the shock of this whole incursion being successful- a powerful contender to how shocked the other protesters were when the bottle shattered into the vehicle. The soldier could tell from the very beginning of the incident. These people were still terrified of consequence. The look in the other's eyes as the knife met flesh confirmed his suspicion all the more.

And Reiner saw his chance. He took a gander and hammered his arm into his opponent's hand to deter any more chance of a repeat offense. This may have battered the knife a bit and coursed its blade to the side- which caused an insurmountable amount of pain for Reiner- but at least he was homeward bound. An arm out, another to defend. Repeat. The other was still off guard.

Professionalism was key. Reiner hooked the heel of the boot to the other's shoe, locking it in place against the boundary of themselves. A slight pivot, as he remembered from all those days of endless training, and the blonde thrusted his torso upward and followed his whole body weight in a switch of power. 

He did not expect the strain or tearing of blood fighting to keep a steady course along the wound. So much scarlet liquid seemed to pour out, and so much loss in gravity as the balls fell and hit the ground. A tide bloomed around and stained the green of his rather proper dressage for the day's original plans. So much, that it was pathetic to see how something so unified and whole that cased a soul was utterly failing to stay together. Droplets lost contact with other droplets, and Reiner could imagine the world of red cells fighting to keep together to only be torn apart and separated from their home. 

Adrenaline made it effortless for the opponent's back to get slammed into the street. It could not be enough. He was dying, and his comrades would have nothing for it if he could not defend his life for them. He was a traitor once. He was a traitor again for this foe attacking him. He was a mockery of a puppet being strung by elites for his whole life. He needed to inexplicably prove he could save and protect what was dear to him. Another man free meant another man to endanger the people he loved most. We are the same. He had been told that before, and sulking with disparage had done nothing but prove to him that he would also do anything to protect his friends. 

The blonde could not let this go. The moment made him barge out a noise of pain as he yanked the knife out (yes, this is bad), and he threw it yards away from both their reach. A sickening gaze from his hazel eyes, and without a flinch of hesitancy his arms twisted, his knee boring against the other's chest as he moved around and struggled his arms around for a headlock. Kicking, screaming, even beckons for forgiveness pursued from the other. Sounds of choking, the feeling of the other's heart against his arms, and fight for movement. Reiner was not numb to it, and suddenly the entire situation made him feel nauseous. 

He let go.

He was sick.

There were no heroes in this case. Both held onto their hopes of what a good future for their children would look like. A strong word with strong meaning, yet a multitude of reasoning behind it.

It's braw, aye it's braw, a captain's lady for to be And it's braw to be a captain's lady-o It's braw to ride around and to follow the camp And to ride when your captain he is ready-o Twas in the early morning, when we marched awa And O but the captain he was sorry-o The drums they did beat o'er the bonnie braes o' Gight And the band played the bonnie lass of Fyvie-o The captain's name was Ned and he died for a maid He died for the bonnie lass of Fyvie-o

*Lots of info, sorry for the dump.

Chapter 5 soon!

[14846]

Chapter 3: Meeting

The tavern was three weeks ago. He had gotten a few questions and remarks from his comrades about what had happened that night. He didn’t mention Janette to any one of them. He told them he washed out into a hotel room. All was fine.

The soldier saw her again in the streets the other day. He was dressed in a similar uniform to the first time they met, unfortunately. Duty called for a uniform, and that was the UOD until work was over. To put it politely, along with his burly demeanor, he was [yet again] a sore sight on commoner grounds. He had meant to apologize to her. Though he wasn’t entirely sure what he had done wrong, his feelings told him to confront the girl nonetheless.

However, once he reached the block where her tavern was, he couldn’t do it. Another day later, and yet again he found himself in the same spot- though this time it was for business. Without delving deep into the lore, because unfortunately the writer may not know the extent of these details, the blonde found himself waiting in line at a post-office. Okay, perhaps this wasn’t governmental business, but it was personal. He was adamant about writing home to his family. Having some letters sent out was crucial for him to balance out his time in Paradis.

Running for his inner pep-talk, one considering a nervous round of ‘I hope I don’t run into that bar girl’, he finally moved. A foot. His eyes hooded over and focused absolutely nowhere. He had only told his comrades that he would be gone for an hour. Easily this could turn into two- or three. The efforts were futile from the very beginning. He could’ve skipped the line if he had some postage stamps, but the soldier lacked them. If it weren’t for his pride, he might’ve asked one of his cohorts for a few spares. They cost money, though, and he didn’t like owing people anything. Ironic. For Janette telling him that he owed nothing to her for quartering in her abode, he felt very different about it. And poorly enough the blonde just became a hypocrite for not paying allowance back to the maid who helped him. Surely that tea drink cost money.. the sheets she must've had to clean when he left for her own sanity, the labor to lug him around as if he were worthless..

Why was he in line waiting to buy some stamps when he could easily just have used his comrades? As easily as he had used that brunette and did not pay her back. He felt his chest tighten to try and maintain the seeping guilt that spilled from his lungs. He'd be here for two hours, no doubt in his mind. Another foot forward. 

He hadn't asked for her help, though? He never asked for a drink or a bed? Let alone to be helped in the first place. Oh. He must've looked helpless. In that case, he was practically begging society to come and scoop him up that night. That just made the blonde feel like he had to hide and cower. He reminded himself to breathe, and his lungs released what was left over from the oxygen he held back through the entire thought process. Since when has the line shortened so much?

So the post-office wasn’t going to be as long as a wait. He was too used to his youth in Liberio.

He purchased his stamps and sent out his letters, already anticipating the mail he would hopefully receive soon from his family. Too bad he was so lost in thought that he totally disregarded that, right in front of him on the street, the bar-girl walking straight for the post office herself. The girl looked a bit caught off guard, because as they were passing each other, he finally made eye-contact. His expression contorted into something a bit more dramatic and shocked, while hers was concerned and confused. Did she look that bad? His legs kept carrying him forward. 

Janette was clearly offended that he would even dare to look at her in such a profound way. Sure, she was a commoner, a worker- though be it for something good in business- but.. He was a high-ranking soldier. Even seeing him in commoner clothes like today and he still looked well groomed and put together. She wondered if he cut his nails.. Odd. Frankly, his behavior pissed her off. She held her head high and did not even falter in step as she entered the post-office.

Reiner was ashamed. Petty, but ashamed. He had to end this once and for all. He hadn't recognized at this point that he made such a poor face at the girl, and instead took it rather hard that she had completely ignored him and kept walking. To be fair, they didn't really know each other.

Without much thought he found his shoes shuffling across the stony street and into the very tavern he had left behind that morning after the fireworks. A man was propped up behind the counter, and considering it to be early in the day still, there was hardly a soul in the proximity. The bar man’s eyes were considerably bagged and tired, his hand holding down a wet rag against the bar counter. He looked bored. 

The soldier sat at the counter, looking a bit apprehensive considering that he was not fond of drinking so early in his day, or making small talk with a stranger for that matter. His hands clammed up. His shoe fell against the floorboards and he considered getting up until low and behold, a specific brunette walked into the room.

“There's no fireworks outside, sir,” the lady said unapologetically. Ouch. “Too many people,” the blonde conceded with a grunt. “Hit your limit?” “Yeah..” Reiner entertained, his lips thinning down to a flat line.  Silence. “Can I help you with something?”

Reiner raised his gaze and met it with the brunette who was now standing across from him and behind the counter. His posture straightened, and his hands tucked onto his lap in refusal to acknowledge how clammy they had become. With a sharp sigh, he took one hand over toward his pocket, his body shifting and propping up to give himself some leverage as he pulled out his wallet. “Yeah..” His fingers sifted through the folds, and the brunette could not help but peer over and watch in curiosity. His eyes did not meet hers. “I want to pay for holding up your time a few weeks ago-”

“Cut that out,” the woman’s stern voice interrupted. There was a pause, and a genuine look of concern as Reiner looked up and met her gaze. She was genuinely peeved. Her hand pushed his hovering wallet away from the counter as she continued  saying “I don’t need anything.”

“But you looked upset earlier-” There was an evident groan. “I wonder why, Mr. Braun?” “Exactly why I came in here to pay you back-”

She folded her arms taut around her chest and leaned her forearms against the counter, looking him square in the eyes. “I don’t need your pity, okay?” 

Suddenly Reiner felt a bit embarrassed. He’d been going on about hating everything that he could’ve done wrong, and in that, he did exactly what he told himself he hated, and that was pity. How is it that he seemed to ruin just about anything he did socially? The brunette must’ve noticed this, because she added “however, if you’re looking to spend some money, you can take me out instead.”

That certainly was not what he was expecting.

[14846]

Chapter 2: Tavern

Nobody had an idea where their large friend had vanished off to. Ironic how, anywhere he went, he seemed to pop out of any crowd like a sore-thumb. Now nobody could see the blonde. 

He was in a tavern.

The candles were flickering in the dim, wooded open-planned room. It seemed that despite all the technological upgrades since coming in contact with the outside world, some businesses did not bother (or perhaps were not able) to afford electrical lights. There were vague popping noises still grumbling into the foundation of the buildings centering around the celebration, but luckily they seemed to be more muffled in this direct, tucked-away vicinity. 

This must’ve been the lady’s tavern, no doubt. That, or it was her family’s. The blonde’s eyes hadn’t left the small table she had crammed him into, and he barely had more than just a single sip from the mug of tea she had made for him. He was still obviously so shaken up. The tea must’ve been cold, she added in thought. 

“I know who you are,” she said quietly. The whole world did. She was sitting at a neighboring table, having found herself drying off some mugs that had been previously washed. She had managed to make a whole set-up for herself, a rag displayed over the wooden framed surface with empty cups alike face down onto it. To him, this must’ve happened in no time at all. 

A few minutes of silence. He had simmered down a bit, and for some reason when he was graced with her voice he seemed to relax a little. His arm levered down the mug slowly, only stopping once he felt and heard the clink of the china against the counter. His eyes rolled from looking down, and his hooded eyelids raised to reveal that he was now finally making eye-contact with her. Briefly. He occupied his gaze back toward his mug as if he found it more attractive. The both of them remained placid. “Thank you, Janette,” the soldier spoke quietly to share his gratitude. Adding her name to it was just the cherry on top.

The brunette shook her head, her hand moving yet another glass from the wet pile to the dry, toweled pile. “I can imagine how hard it was- for any soldier,” she soothed. Her hands met at another wet glass and she began to dry it out of any leftover water droplets. “I respect any soul who took that vow.” The blonde heard the brunette’s chair scraping against the floor, and soon after there was a shadow imposing over his frame and a pair of hands to boot to take the mug from the table. “I’ll heat this up.” So he had been here for a while, he thought.

She felt pity for him. “Wait, don’t,” his voice curtled in his throat. The man who was crouched into the table extended out his hand to take the mug. “I don’t mind cold tea,” he added after clearing his throat. Truth is, he usually liked warm beverages to remain warm, but in a fit of petty, he could not afford for someone else to feel sorry for him. Janette’s eyebrow raised curtly, and she handed the man his claimed mug back. Well that made things infinitely more awkward. Now he wished she would’ve just heated it up for him, because every time he took a sip there was a visible, slight wince to his expression that did not need anyone to expound on. He was suffering. Rough night, right? The dark-haired girl popped herself back into her seat and continued her work, and after a muted 10 minutes, she began to speak again.

“You’re welcome to leave when the fireworks end.” “I was planning on it, thank you,” shit. That sounded rude.  “Right,” her eyebrows raised to herself as she wiped a few more droplets out from a glass. “In that case, it was very nice to meet you. I won’t tell anybody about what happened, alright?”  “Thanks..”

— 

The fireworks did not end. He was fine enough by now to hold his own without fearing for his life, that is, within the building. Janette’s make-shift cleaning table was long emptied, and she had occupied herself with a few late-night customers who had waded in to get away from the crowd. Reiner had not even drank halfway through his mug of tea all this time, and he was starting to feel a tad bit too awkward for his own taste. If only he had handled this situation better, he thought, maybe he could’ve been less embarrassed. 

He felt his nerves tingle, and without thought he scooted his chair back and felt his boots clunk against the floorboards. His feet were sore as his weight bore down against his leather-boot soles, and a slight adjustment of discomfort was all he could do as he approached his evening savior. A rumble in the foundation, again, and he found himself pausing stiffly against a wooden post. That didn’t help much, because it just reverberated the vibrations into his body now. A sharp inhale, and a leg extending out to continue the mission seemed all a bit robotic as he went over to the woman who took him here in the first place. 

She hadn’t even noticed his approach. Nobody had. The evening visitors were regulars and having a good laugh until the large blonde stuck out like a sore thumb between the group of them. The woman eyed the man in curiosity before she walked from behind the bar-tending counter and toward him. She guided him a few feet back as if to make it a more private endeavor, the man complying without any look of complaint in his eyes.

“We have an extra room upstairs if you need a place to sleep tonight,” she offered. “I don’t know if that’ll help-”

“My room is downstairs, it’ll mute any noise better than any place you’ll find,” she interrupted. Her voice was a bit urgent, but her body language spoke in the exact opposite way. She seemed genuine. It caught the man off guard, and he shook his head carefully. He wasn’t some soldier about to take up and quarter in a home that was not his. He raised a hand up as if to object, his mouth even opening before she spoke again. “You have nothing to owe me for this. I’ll sleep upstairs.”

Would his friends worry about him? No.. Not as long as he showed up bright and early to their meeting with the council. “Thank you..”

The brunette mouthed something muted to her customers as she guided the brawny man to a far corner and down a secluded staircase. What was she saying to those people? Words of pity, he ruminated. Suddenly he felt his chest tighten, and the layers of clothes felt more like heavy weights bearing down against his body. They reached the bottom, and despite the fear of it being pitch black, he kept his arms taut around himself. 

“Janette..” “Yes?” The dark-haired woman replied as she stood up straight. Ah, he could see. She had lit up a lantern by her nightstand and had been crouched for easier access. “I don’t need this pity, really..” Was pity the best word he could find?  “You’re not getting any special treatment for saving the world.” Was that sarcasm? He felt his cheeks turn a color of pink. “That’s not what I was implying-” “Good. There’s a bathroom to your right.” She didn’t even give him a second glance. Had he done something wrong? Of course he did..

She was gone without even another moment to spare. She left the soldier standing.

[14846]

Chapter 1: Brief

Survivors. All those remaining, by chance, survived. Political outrage, civilian forfeit and the dark three years since the rumbling stole a lot for the twenty percent of the population who lived to see another day. The ship was landing, the queen would guide her cohorts and a new chapter would begin.

 —

Well within the walls did the wheels bring them to, and by nightfall there was a celebration to mark the anniversary of all branches of the military unifying under the land of Paradis.

A lone soldier, a warrior, a person once cast aside and laid with the burden that only he thought he could atone for. Sins were the tragedies he still couldn’t courage forgiveness; but it got easier. He had backup, he had been given another chance and now found himself strolling about the very place he once betrayed. The very place he felt that accepted him for who he was.

The land he prayed to return to, the land he wished for. The place he sought in his dreams when he would then awake in a dull bedroom in the midst of another war front for Marley. A once Vice Chief Braun was a Warrior, but at heart he was always a soldier. He had returned back to his own Fennario.

His heart lunged from his chest as he marched down the cobblestone road, aiming for something particular only to him when a boom burst through the air and exploded, but there was no fire. There were shouts, awe circumvented through the crowds that were placed by some kiosks along the streets.

The soldier’s leg gave in, his hand raising over to grab the vest buttoned over his chest as a rumble vibrated throughout the stoned walkway. Another, and his eyes shot up to see fire crackling in the air, falling, but not landing near him. His knee snapped in another direction opposing how he intended to send his boot down in, and another thunder of fire clapped and sparked above him. His hands flew over his head to block the flames from landing onto him, his breath hitching and forcing him to hold back from any release. His lungs started to burn, and he felt his cheeks flush red as he started to hurry toward his destination. Another crash of light and the screams of awe pierced him. Reflections along the buildings cast lights around crates and other abandoned festivities that had happened earlier in the day.

A celebration to fit for the anniversary. He felt his body inevitably lunge forward, and without thought his arms were hovering over the back of his neck at another crash. He couldn’t save himself this time- he couldn’t save anybody else. Mortality was an exceptionally odd thing to accept after these few years.

Did anyone tell him that there would be fireworks tonight?

There must’ve been a mistake when a hand so politely pressed against the knelt soldier’s body. There was no rush to hide from the line of fire, no trance of panic. To think, the only people running nearby were the pitter-patter of children’s shoes as sparks twinkled from sticks that were held in their hands.

No. He was stuck in the battlefront huddled in his mind. A gentle tug, and the man looked up to see a concerned brunette looking down at him. She had obviously taken notice of the blonde’s strange behavior and taken initiative.

No words, just a concerned look. She pulled her hand from his shoulder and instead, flipped her palm upward to the sky and held it pointedly in front of him. Another crackle, and he shuffled uncomfortably, his eyes shutting as he lurched his hand into hers. With another tug from her, he pulled himself up to his feet.

As we marched down to Fennario As we marched down to Fennario What will your mother think when she hears the guineas clink The soldiers all marchin' before you-o? Sweet William is dead and he died for a maid The fairest maid in the are-o If ever I return, all your cities I will burn Destroying all the ladies in the are-o Fennario. Fennario.

She spoke and told him to focus. His legs dragged behind her despite her stride being much shorter than his. His stomach churned, his temples throbbing in pain by how tightly he had shut his eyes through the works of fire in the sky.

He returned to the land that broke his heart. Returned. Except the flames that emptied within the nation in fury had turned into comical opposition. The flames flew into the stars beyond now, but then, they crashed and smoked the grounds he stepped on. He continued to lag behind in memories, but now at least there seemed to be a hand that would drag him out of the war zone.

A door shut, and before he could realize, he was sitting with a cup of tea cradled in his hands.

“I’m Janette.”