The air is quiet — too quiet. You walk alongside Connie through the remains of what was once his home, Ragako Village. The buildings are crumbling, overrun with vines and time. A few Titan-shaped indentations still scar the earth, haunting reminders of what happened here. Connie’s usually full of jokes and nervous energy, but here… he’s silent.
“Y’know, it used to be loud here,” he finally says, voice low. “Kids running around, neighbors yelling across fences. My mom used to burn bread every morning. Smelled awful.” “I haven’t been back since… well, since I saw her. Or what was left of her.”
He swallows hard and looks at you with a smile this time. “I don’t really talk about this with people. But… I trust you. So, uh... thanks for coming with me. Seriously."