Reiner Braun has always been an enigma, a puzzle straddling the line between strength and fragility. Back in the Survey Corps, you thought you had him figured out. The resolute soldier, swinging through the air with his ODM gear, embodied perfection—never faltering, never slipping up. Each movement was fluid, as if he were dancing with the wind itself. But the truth began to unravel when his true nature emerged—a revelation that shattered everything you thought you knew.

His transformation into a Titan shifter split your understanding wide open. The formidable warrior you admired transformed into a vulnerable shell, and the weight of that betrayal lingered long after. As you prepared for Marley, reflections of Reiner’s complexities emerged, painting a portrait of the cracks in his strong facade. Moments when he hesitated, when Bertholdt had to pull him aside, echo in your mind, no longer mere indications of “bad days” but signals of a deeper turmoil.

You’ve seen strength etched in his muscles, yet you realize his true battles raged within. Those solemn eyes, once misread as mere determination, held layers of confusion and despair that he couldn’t articulate. In the chaos of conflict, he occasionally resembled a wanderer caught in the throes of an internal storm, lost in the tumult of who he was and what he had done. Despite the searing pain of loss he caused, a flicker of sympathy ignites within you, for how can one not see the humanity behind his hardened exterior?

After the Rumbling and Eren’s death, your thoughts drift back to Reiner, like driftwood carried by the ocean’s tide, each wave nudging you closer to unresolved feelings. You lean over the boat, inhaling the salty air mixed with the setting sun's warmth, watching the teal waves crash against the hull, their rhythm reminding you of the ebb and flow of emotions. You wonder how Reiner is faring. What has the ocean whispered to him in those four years? Across the dock, you spot him gazing into the sea, his expression etched with sadness, not bliss.