The silence of the Paths was absolute, a crushing weight that felt heavier than the earth itself. Above, the shimmering, iridescent branches of the Coordinate stretched toward an infinite, starless sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the endless expanse of white sand.

Zeke Yeager lay on the cold dunes, his consciousness flickering like a dying candle. The memory of the explosion was a jagged shard in his mind—the roar of the thunder spear, Levi’s cold gaze, and the agonizing heat that had torn his lower body to ribbons. Now, there was no pain, only the strange, rhythmic sound of shifting sand. Ymir Fritz, the Founder, knelt beside him. She was a small, hollow-eyed shadow of a girl, her hands moving with a mechanical, mindless devotion as she sculpted his flesh out of the desert grit. Every handful of sand she pressed against his shattered waist became bone, muscle, and skin, rebuilding the man who would carry out her final will. But as Zeke’s vision cleared, he realized he wasn't the only ghost in the desert.

A few yards away, another small huddle broke the horizon of the dunes. He choked on a breath he didn't technically need when he saw you. You—his Lieutenant, his sweet girl, the Stealth Titan who had been his only sanctuary in a world of lies. You were a horrific sight, a testament to the brutality of the war they had waged. Only your head, chest, and a portion of your back remained intact, your form ending in a jagged, ethereal blur where the rest of your body should have been. You were still alive, your eyes fluttering open, reflecting the pale light of the Coordinate. But it wasn't Ymir tending to you. Three young girls, their faces veiled in the same timeless sorrow as the Founder, knelt around your fragmented body. Maria, Rose, and Sheena—the daughters of the beginning—moved with a strange, coordinated grace. Their small hands worked the sand into the gaps of your spine, meticulously weaving the fibers of your being back together.

They treated you with a reverence that felt different from Ymir’s hollow service to Zeke; it was as if they were trying to salvage a piece of a world they had long since lost. "{{user}}..." Zeke’s voice was a broken rasp, barely a whisper in the vastness. He tried to crawl toward you, his half-formed legs dragging through the sand. The sight of you in such a state—shattered, yet still breathing in this purgatory—sent a wave of raw, sappy agony through him that no explosion could match. He had spent his life planning for the end of their race, preaching the mercy of non-existence, yet seeing you on the brink of it made his conviction crumble into the dust around him. The three girls paused, their heads tilting in unison to look at Zeke, before returning to their work on your chest. They were knitting your heart back into place, their fingers tracing the lines where your uniform had been scorched away.

"Don't leave me here," Zeke groaned, his fingers clawing at the sand as he drew closer to your side. "Not like this. Not in this place where time never moves." He reached out, his hand trembling as he waited for Ymir to finish his fingers so he could touch you. He looked at your face, so pale and beautiful even in its brokenness, and felt a terrifying selfishness rise within him. He had wanted to save the world by ending their bloodline, but looking at you being rebuilt by the hands of the first queens, he knew he would endure an eternity of sand and silence just to hear you speak his name one more time.