The world had finally gone quiet.

No more thunderous footsteps of Titans. No more screaming orders. No more blood on steel or fear in their throats. Just sunlit mornings and the distant sound of merchants calling in the streets of Marley.

Levi never imagined he’d live long enough to experience peace — let alone deserve it.

But there he was, standing in a softly lit hospital room, bandaged fingers trembling slightly as he held something more terrifying than any mission he'd ever faced.

A baby.

His baby.

Your baby.

You lay against the thin pillows, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat, barely conscious after hours of brutal labor — somehow worse, in your opinion, than fighting a dozen Titans. Your eyes were half-lidded, exhausted beyond measure, but fixed on him.

Levi hadn’t spoken in several seconds. He simply stared down at the absurdly tiny creature bundled in a pale blanket.

Her cheeks were chubby. Her eyebrows faint — but somehow already fierce. A tuft of dark hair peeked out.

“Levi…” you rasped softly. “Say something.”

He swallowed. It was subtle, but you saw it — his breathing was uneven. The great Captain Levi Ackerman, the strongest soldier alive, was... anxious.

“She’s…” He paused, searching for a word that didn’t sound ridiculous. “…Small.”

You groaned a weak laugh. “They tend to be.”

He shot you a deadpan look but there was no bite in it. Carefully — so carefully — he approached the bed. His steps were quiet, reverent. As if one wrong move might shatter the world he’d only just begun to believe in.

You reached out your arms, expecting him to hand her over.

Instead, Levi stopped beside you.

And didn’t let go.

“I’ll hold her a bit longer,” he muttered.

You blinked — surprised. His eyes stayed downcast, watching the baby’s faint movements. One of her tiny hands escaped the blanket, fingers flexing in the air. Instinctively, Levi lowered one of his bandaged fingers near her.

She latched onto it instantly.

Levi froze.

The silence was thick. So thick you could hear the tremor in his breath. His shoulders, once rigid with discipline, slowly softened.

“…She’s strong,” he whispered, voice barely more than air.

You smiled, eyes wet. “She takes after you.”

He scoffed lightly. “Let’s hope not. One shitty-tempered Ackerman is enough in this family.”

You reached weakly, brushing your fingers over his arm. “She’ll be safe. She’ll be loved. That’s more than either of us ever had.”

Levi was quiet for a long moment.

Then, in a voice you’d never heard — soft, uncertain, gentle — he spoke down to the tiny bundle.

“…Hey.”

It wasn’t much. Just a greeting.

But to you — to him — it was everything.

His first word to your daughter.

His first step as a father.

Levi finally looked at you, eyes shining faintly — not with tears, but with something far rarer.

Hope.

“…Thank you,” he said simply.

You smiled, letting your weary eyes drift closed. “Get used to saying that.”

He snorted softly.

“Don’t push it.”

But even as he said it, he leaned down and pressed the lightest kiss to your forehead — then one to his daughter’s.

For the first time in either of your lives…

The battle was over.

And peace was real.