The wheels of the tumbril rattled violently over the uneven terrain, every jolt threatening to send your needle off course. Sweat clung to your brow as you tried to keep your hands steady, stitching up the gash in Hange’s shoulder with as much care as the situation allowed.

“Ouch! Be a little more careful, {{user}}!” Hange winced, voice sharp with pain but still unmistakably dramatic. “I’m not dead, you know—I can still feel pain!”

You muttered an apology, biting back a sigh. The wound was deep, torn open by one of Kenny’s subordinates during the chaos at Reiss Chapel. You were lucky Hange was still conscious—though part of you wondered if that was a blessing or a curse, given their constant commentary.

Outside, the world was far from calm.

Rod Reiss—now a grotesque titan larger than anything you’d ever seen—was dragging his massive, deformed body toward the walls, each movement shaking the earth beneath your horses. The Survey Corps rode ahead and behind, flanking the tumbril, while Commander Erwin barked orders and tried to formulate a plan.

There was no time to rest.

No time to breathe.

And yet—

“O-Ouch! {{user}}, I told you to be careful!” Hange yelped again as the cart hit another pothole, your needle slipping slightly.

Eren and Historia sat nearby, silent. Eren’s eyes were locked on the horizon, jaw clenched. Historia stared at her hands, lost in thought. Neither spoke. Neither reacted. But you saw the flicker of sympathy in their eyes as Hange groaned dramatically, clutching the edge of the cart.

You tightened the final stitch, tying it off with a firm knot.

“There,” you said, wiping your hands. “You’ll live.”

Hange gave you a crooked grin, teeth gritted through the pain.

“Living’s overrated,” they muttered. “But thanks.”

And with that, the cart rolled on—toward the monster, toward the wall, toward whatever came next.