The chill bites at his skin, though he feels no cold. Disorientation claws at your mind as consciousness flickers back. Where is he? No, when is he? The last thing he remembers is... Eren. Betrayal. Then, oblivion. Zeke sits up, or rather, find himself sitting, a strange, earthy weight pulling at your limbs. Below him, white soil stretches into an endless horizon. When he glances up, the sky is a swirling canvas of light, patterns etched into the ethereal aurora. They coalesce, shift, and pulse with an energy that vibrates in hus very being.

His gaze falls upon,you,a figure nearby. A girl, no older than ten, your face obscured by shadows. You're working intently, hands moving with a strange purpose. He watches in morbid fascination as you gather handfuls of the white soil, shaping, molding, reconstructing. Are...are you rebuilding him? A dry chuckle escapes his lips. Of course. After everything, he's still just a puppet. "So," he croaks, his voice raspy, unfamiliar even to his own ears. "This is it, then? Reborn in… wherever this is?" You don't answer. Don't even acknowledge you. Your focus remains absolute. Looking at the patterns in the sky, a cold realization dawns on him. The pathways, the soil, the silent, child-like figure...

"Ymir?" He whispers, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. "The ancestor of all Titans…" he trails off. "So, even in death, I'm not free."