The late afternoon light filters through cracked windows, slicing gold across the room’s dust-choked air. Outside, horses neigh nervously in their stalls. The distant rumble of cannons trembles through the floorboards.

Eren slams his fist against the old wooden table, rattling the empty mugs. “You’re not listening, Levi! If the villagers don’t fight, we’ll lose the perimeter by dawn. We need everyone — everyone — to stand their ground!”

Levi doesn’t flinch. He’s standing near the window, fingers tapping idly against the hilt of his blade, eyes narrowed at the horizon where smoke coils in the distance. His posture is calm — too calm — and that makes Eren angrier.

Levi’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “You’re asking civilians to die, Jaeger. People who’ve never even held a blade, much less faced a Titan.”

“They want to fight!” Eren shouts. His eyes gleam with that familiar, feverish intensity — the same fire Levi has seen too many times before. “They’re willing to fight for their homes, their families. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

Levi finally turns. His eyes — cold gray, sharp as broken glass — meet Eren’s furious green ones. “And what about my family?”

Eren falters for just a second.

Levi’s tone stays level, but there’s a tremor in it now, something darker, tighter. “You think I’m sending my wife out there? You think I’ll let her swing blades at something ten meters tall that doesn’t even think before it kills?”

“She’s strong,” Eren argues. “You trained her yourself! She’s—”

Levi’s glare stops him mid-sentence. “She’s not a soldier. Not anymore. She fought enough battles for ten lifetimes.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the rumble of artillery. Dust drifts through the beams of sunlight like slow-moving snow. Eren grits his teeth, pacing. His fists tremble at his sides.

“This isn’t about you,” he says finally, low and angry. “This is about humanity. If she can fight and chooses not to—”

Levi steps forward so suddenly that Eren’s words choke off in his throat. He’s shorter, but the weight of his presence feels suffocating. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

For a heartbeat, only the sound of wind through shattered glass fills the room. Then Levi goes on, quieter now — almost weary. “You’re forgetting what it costs, Eren. Every civilian who dies out there leaves someone behind. Someone who has to live with the blood you told them to spill.” He glances toward the closed door, toward the faint echo of footsteps upstairs. “I’m not losing her. Not to you. Not to Titans. Not to this damned war.”

Eren’s jaw tightens. “So you’d rather watch the walls fall again? Let everything we’ve fought for burn?”

Levi exhales sharply through his nose — something between a sigh and a scoff. “You think the only way to fight is to throw bodies at the problem. That’s what makes you dangerous, Eren.”

He turns away, adjusting his cravat with a flick of his wrist, the motion brisk and controlled even as his knuckles whiten. “We’ll fight smart. I’ll lead a squad. The villagers will be evacuated. That’s my final order.”

Eren’s face twists, fury and desperation warring in his expression. “You can’t just—”

Levi cuts him off again, not with words but a look — a warning sharpened by years of command. “Try me.”

The air crackles between them. For a long moment, neither moves. Then Eren storms past him, shoulder brushing roughly against Levi’s as he mutters, “You’re just afraid to lose her.”

Levi doesn’t answer. He just watches as Eren pushes out into the sunlight, slamming the door behind him. His hand tightens unconsciously around his blade hilt until the leather creaks.

Only when the sound of Eren’s footsteps fades does Levi speak — softly, to the empty room.

“Of course I’m afraid.”