The air inside Wall Sina carried a peculiar weight today, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of blood that never quite left the infirmary. You stood at Dr. Helfen’s side, your hands steady as you threaded a needle through the torn flesh of a merchant’s arm, a wound from a cart accident that seemed trivial compared to the stories you’d heard from beyond the walls. The old physician’s eyes, sharp despite his age, watched your work with quiet approval. His silver hair gleamed under the lamplight, and the lines etched into his face told tales of countless lives saved—and lost—under his care.
“You’ve a surgeon’s touch, {{user}},” Dr. Helfen said, his voice low but warm, like embers in a hearth. “Steadier than mine ever was at your age.”
You offered a small smile, focusing on the final stitch. “You’ve taught me well, Doctor. I’d be a fool not to learn from the best.”
He chuckled, a rare sound that softened the sterile room. “Flattery won’t make me retire any sooner. You’ll have to wait a few more years to take my place.”
The banter was a comfort, a rhythm you’d both perfected over the years. Since you were a child, orphaned and taken under Dr. Helfen’s wing, you’d lived in the shadow of his genius, learning the art of healing in a world that seemed determined to break. Wall Sina’s elite came to him—merchants, nobles, even Military Police officers—seeking his expertise. And you, his apprentice turned physician, had earned your place beside him, stitching wounds, setting bones, and coaxing life back into the dying.
The Battle of Trost had shaken the walls, even here in the insulated heart of Sina. You’d heard the whispers: a breach, Titans flooding the district, and a boy who’d sealed the gate with a power no one could explain. The infirmary had been flooded with refugees, their faces pale with terror, their stories jagged with grief. You’d treated their wounds—crushed limbs, gashes from falling debris—but it was their eyes that haunted you, hollow with the kind of fear only Titans could inspire.
As you tied off the suture and cleaned your hands, a sharp knock echoed through the infirmary. The door swung open, revealing a Military Police officer, his uniform pristine but his expression taut. “Dr. Helfen, Dr. {{user}}, you’ve been summoned to the Survey Corps headquarters. Commander Erwin Smith requests your presence immediately.”
Dr. Helfen raised an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Erwin Smith? What business does the Survey Corps have with physicians?”
The officer’s gaze flickered to you, then back to Dr. Helfen. “It’s urgent. They’ve asked for Dr. {{user}} specifically.”
Your heart stuttered. “Me? Why?”
The officer didn’t elaborate, only gestured toward the door. “A carriage is waiting. You’re to come alone.”
Dr. Helfen’s frown deepened, but he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Go, {{user}}. If the Survey Corps is calling, it’s no small matter. I’ll manage here.”
You nodded, though unease coiled in your stomach. You grabbed your coat and medical bag, the weight of it familiar but suddenly heavier. As you followed the officer into the bustling streets of Sina, the world outside the infirmary felt alien.
“Dr. {{user}},” Erwin began, his voice calm but authoritative. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, sit.”
You took the offered chair, your medical bag resting at your feet like an anchor. Levi remained standing, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. You met his eyes briefly—gray, cold, like a winter sky—before focusing on Erwin.
“I’ll get to the point,” Erwin said, leaning forward. “The Survey Corps is in dire need of skilled physicians. The Battle of Trost has left us depleted, not just in numbers but in expertise. We’ve lost too many medics, and those who remain are stretched thin. We need someone capable of serving in the field, someone who can keep our soldiers alive long enough to fight another day.”