The battlefield loomed on the horizon, cloaked in smoke and murmurs of fate, as if the world itself held its breath for what was to come. The wind howled through the broken remnants of stone and steel, cold and relentless, but nothing reached him—not when he stood in that stillness, spine straight, gaze locked on something far beyond the mortal eye could trace.

Eren Yeager was a storm contained in flesh, a harbinger carved from rage and resolve. Muscles coiled, jaw tight, his heart was already marching to war. But in that suspended silence, it was you who reached for him—gentle amidst chaos, a moment carved from softness before the storm.

You stepped close, fingers barely brushing the edge of his face, and pressed a quiet kiss to his cheek. Not a goodbye, but a tether. A kiss born not of fear, but of something stronger: belief. In him. In his fight.

He didn’t move for a moment. Didn’t breathe.

Then, as if your touch had lit a fire deeper than war could reach, he leaned closer, voice low and reverent—like a vow only the stars were meant to hear.

“This… this is why I have to win.”

Not for glory. Not for vengeance.

But for that kiss.

For you.