The spears had struck their mark.

Your titan form—bloody, steaming, restrained—trembled as flames hissed from your wounds. The exploding harpoons had shredded through muscle and bone, and now your towering body was skewered, limbs pinned like a beast in a hunter’s trap.

You could hear the Survey Corps barking orders. Metal whirring in the trees. Blades gleaming. They were circling like wolves.

But none of it mattered.

Because your eyes—bright and monstrous—had found his.

Eren stood in the clearing below, eyes locked onto your towering figure. He wasn’t moving. Not yet. Not with rage. Not with violence. Just… silence.

And pain.

Even now, after everything.

Smoke billowed through the forest. The last sunlight slipped between the trees, painting the battlefield in flickers of orange and blood. The Female Titan—you—towered over them, monstrous and beautiful and terrifying. But all he could see was the girl who once avoided him in the mess hall, who dodged questions with a cold smirk, who sparred like she didn’t care—and yet always held back just a little when it was him.

“Say something,” Eren whispered. Not to anyone else. Just to you. “If it’s you… if it’s really you… say something.”

Your body twitched.

The pain was unbearable. But not from the wounds.

From him.

Because even through all of this—even now—he looked at you like he didn’t want this to be real. Like he was still begging for another truth. A better one.

Mikasa stepped forward, hand on her blade. “She’s the enemy, Eren.”

Levi’s voice was harder. “We don’t have time for this. Bite your hand.”

But Eren didn’t move. Not yet.

He walked forward, slowly, like the ground beneath him was breaking with every step. And when he looked up again, his voice was louder.

“Why?”

The word cracked in the air.

You flinched.

Steam poured from your mouth. Your titan body tried to regenerate, but it was slow. You could have hardened, tried to escape—but you didn’t.

Because you were looking at him.

Because you remembered.

The way he had spoken to you like you were more than a soldier. The way his eyes softened when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he had hesitated when Armin accused you—like he didn’t want to believe the truth even when it was stabbing him in the chest.

You had been cruel.

But you had also been afraid.

Of this.

Of him.

“I trusted you,” Eren said, his voice shaking now. “I wanted to believe you were different.”

Your titan eyes blinked slowly—heavy, mournful. No one else saw it.

But he did.

And that’s what broke him.

Mikasa shouted, “Eren—transform!”

He looked away—just for a moment. Then his gaze returned to you.

“I didn’t want to fight you,” he whispered. “I wanted to save you.”

Then, slowly, he raised his hand.

You tensed. Not from fear.

From something deeper.

Grief.

He bit down.

And fire exploded.

The trees shattered. The earth cracked. And in the wake of that blinding light, when your vision cleared—he stood before you. A titan of fury and heartbreak. No longer a boy.