The chandeliers blaze overhead, hundreds of crystals catching the warm light and scattering it across polished marble floors. Music swells through the grand ballroom - violins, cellos, a stately waltz befitting Wall Sina’s inner sanctum. Tonight is meant to be peaceful. A celebration of survival. Of power. Of the fragile illusion that the Walls will always stand.

You stand at the top of the stairs, a princess wrapped in silk and diplomacy, your gloved hand resting lightly against the banister as the court turns to look at you. Nobles bow. Officers salute. The king watches from his throne with a measured smile, pleased with the spectacle he has created.

Outside these walls, soldiers bleed. Tonight, they are guests.

Members of the Survey Corps linger along the edges of the ballroom - out of place in formal-wear, boots and heels polished to an unfamiliar shine. Their presence is both reassurance and warning. Green cloaks have been set aside, ODM gear locked away for the evening… though you know how quickly steel can be drawn if signal flares ever stain the sky.

Levi stands near a column, posture rigid, eyes sharp and unreadable as he surveys the room like a battlefield. He looks uncomfortable - more alert than relaxed - hands clean, gloves pristine, as if dirt itself would be an insult tonight. Near him, Erwin speaks quietly with high-ranking officials, every word calculated, every smile a strategy. Hange is already animated, gesturing excitedly at some poor noble who looks one question away from fainting.

A sudden hush ripples through the crowd as the king raises his hand, signaling the opening dance. Partners step forward. Laughter resumes. Glasses clink.