The air was thick with chaos. The damaged flying boat groaned under the strain of its wounds, the result of Floch’s desperate gunfire. The situation unraveled further by the second—shouted orders clashed with the frantic clatter of tools as engineers scrambled to repair the vessel. The tension coiled tight in your chest, a suffocating weight of helplessness. Despair crept in like a shadow, seeping into your very bones.

"I was the one who led everyone to this point. I’ll take responsibility."

That voice—familiar, resolute. You turned sharply, heart pounding, and there stood Hange. Their fist rested against Armin’s chest in solemn affirmation, their expression unwavering as they named him the next Commander.

Your breath caught. Your hands turned cold. The color drained from your face.

No.

Were they really going to—

Sacrifice themselves… to stop the Titans?