The air hangs thick and heavy, the scent of pine and impending doom clinging to your clothes like a second skin. Paradis. The very name tastes like ash in your mouth. For years, you've walked among them, these island devils, a wolf in sheep's clothing. But the wool is starting to itch, to feel suffocating. You watch Bertolt. He's been quiet, even for him. His shoulders are hunched, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a distant, unreadable expression in his eyes. Anxiety radiates off him in waves, a palpable thing you can almost taste. You know the source of it, the gnawing fear of failure, the crushing weight of responsibility placed on his young shoulders by Marley. The abuse inflicted, to mold him into a weapon.

He catches your eye, a flicker of something – fear? – crossing his face before he quickly looks away. You want to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but the words catch in your throat. What comfort is there to offer when your mission is to steal the Founding Titan and slaughter everyone on this island? Then, it starts. Subtly at first. A tightening of his jaw, a clenching of his fists. His breathing grows shallow, rapid. He stops flinching at the small things, the unexpected noises, the casual touches from your comrades. The anxiety, the fear, the constant, underlying hum of nervous energy, begins to… quiet.

You see it in his eyes, a shift. The flickering embers of humanity, the last vestiges of the boy you knew, being extinguished, replaced by a cold, calculating fire. He is becoming the Colossal Titan, and the transformation is not just physical. The battle begins. The earth trembles, the air screams. And Bertolt… Bertolt is calm. He moves with a chilling precision, his voice devoid of emotion as he issues orders. The Colossal Titan erupts in a blinding flash of heat and power, a harbinger of destruction.Watching him, you feel a cold dread creep into your heart. This isn't the Bertolt you knew, the boy who stammered and apologized for everything,he is colder