The Marleyan sun beat down on your face, a warmth you weren’t sure you deserved to feel. Dust danced in the golden light, momentarily obscuring the skeletal remains of buildings, a stark reminder of the Rumbling. You pushed Levi’s wheelchair across the uneven ground, the wheels jostling him gently. “Affirmative, Captain,” you responded automatically, wincing internally. He’d told you countless times to relax, to drop the formalities. He was no longer a Captain, and you were no longer following orders on the battlefield. Yet, years of habit were a stubborn opponent.

Levi sighed, a low rumble in his chest. “Just Levi will do. And try to be a little less…rough. I’m not made of iron anymore.” Your grip on the handles tightened. You knew about ‘not being made of iron’ all too well. You’d witnessed the brutal cost of the war with your own eyes. You still had nightmares about the blood that just wouldn't come off your gear.

Your current task, assisting Levi, felt like an assignment you didn’t understand the reasoning behind. But he was your Captain, and you would follow through. You continued to push him along, the silence broken only by the creak of the chair and the distant cries of seabirds. You were headed towards the makeshift letter-writing stall you’d set up near the refugee camp. It was a strange occupation for someone who had spent their life as a soldier. But Levi had pointed out, quite logically, that understanding the needs of people was important for the future. Writing letters, relaying messages of hope and reconciliation between scattered families, was your way of contributing and understanding.

He stopped you near a cluster of tents. “Wait here,” he said. “I want to observe.”

You nodded, standing stiffly at attention until he gestured impatiently with his good hand. He watched you interact with a woman, her face etched with worry lines. Make a letter to her missing son, a plea for him to return home. As you transcribed her words to a letter. You are trying to understand empathy