The stable air is thick with hay, leather, and earth, softened by a crisp morning breeze slipping through the wooden slats. Sunlight filters in, turning drifting dust into golden fragments that swirl with every motion.

Armin rolls up his uniform sleeves, the fabric still stiff from last night’s wash. He exhales and fastens another saddle strap. The horse beside him flicks its ears and huffs in quiet protest.

“Yeah, I know,” Armin murmurs, patting its flank. “You’re not the only one tired of being dragged into danger.”

The horse snorts, almost amused, and nudges his shoulder. He smiles, adjusting the bridle with practiced, steady hands.