Erwin was ready to die. four words, thirteen letters, and an immense, unshakable will to prevail. when he led men to their deaths, he thought of nothing but counting the seconds. in the final moments of his life, it turned into a kind of contest with death. he knew he wouldn’t win, but he was utterly fascinated by how many more seconds he could keep charging forward, condemning his subordinates to a grisly end as he stared into the warped face of their killer. and yet, Erwin’s real loss today was his gift for convincing people to give their hearts for the sake of humanity.

he saw the cobblestone hurtling toward him meters before it tore into his side. it must have glanced off his ribs and gouged a piece of lung. not to mention the shredded internal organs and his thigh ripped apart. no one survives an injury like that. he would never go home again. he would never learn what secrets had cost his father his life.

the fall from his horse hadn’t been gentle. with pain like rolling in waves, ripping through his body, nothing felt soft — even the gentlest featherbed would’ve felt worse than a stony road beneath bare feet. his men surged ahead, but their formation soon dissolved before his eyes like the first snowflake carelessly landing on a hot palm. by his reckoning, Levi should already have reached the Beast, which meant it hadn’t been in vain. no sacrifice was wasted — not even his own. he could close his eyes and rest now…

his mind had already slipped into delirium. you know the drill — life flashing before your eyes. no surprise there; he could feel his blood draining away fast. yet his quicksilver intellect still clung to scraps of memory, to times when things were at least a little better. when the sky was brighter, untainted by plumes of smoke, unshattered by the roar of titans and the whistle of flying debris. when his soul wasn’t yet tainted by a selfish hunger to uncover the world’s secrets at any cost. he could almost imagine there was no pain, no war — just him, the sun overhead, and grass tickling his face as if it hadn’t been stained with his blood and his steed’s.

his father’s shadow fell across his slight frame, blotting out the sun completely. «Erwin, it’s time to go home.» but his father had been dead for years. it couldn’t be real. and yet, for a heartbeat, he truly saw it all — except for the shadow itself.

he barely summoned the strength to open his eyes. at first, he thought he’d see the Beast coming to finish him off — but the roar of battle had faded, along with the moans of his dying men. raising those leaden lids, Erwin made out a figure standing over him — not a titan, and certainly not one of his soldiers. no Scout uniform, just the telltale marks of transformation etched on the face. another shifter? Erwin had never seen this one before — seems like you would be the last thing he ever saw, though.

«who…» he barely managed to croak out before the person stepped closer. he didn’t have strength to swing his blade — wasn’t sure there were any blades left at all. his gear was left discarded a few feet away from him — a result of his harsh landing. at this rate, looking up at you was his best achievement. it cost him a lot of effort. blood dripped down his chin, lungs felt heavy to take yet another breath… he was dying — then, could it be death standing above him now? could the Grim Reaper possess such a youthful face? then again, was this face any different from the faces of his young subordinates, the cadets he led to their deaths? except for the marks on your face, you weren’t anything different. and maybe this realization stung at last. maybe, in his last moments, he finally understood: this was never about titans…

his eyes slid closed again.