Erwin had always been a man of logic, a strategist who weighed every risk before making a move. He never let himself get too attached—not to his soldiers, not to his comrades, not even to you.

In survey corps you challenged him, questioned him, made him see the world differently. But no matter how much he admired you, he kept you at arm’s length. At first, he saw you as a daughter—a reckless, brilliant force that needed guidance.

And yet, somehow, against his better judgment, you became something more.

Now, as he stands in your shared quarters, cradling the impossibly small bundle in his arms, Erwin feels something unfamiliar. The baby stirs, tiny fingers twitching before wrapping around his thumb. A lump forms in his throat.

“She’s so small,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

You, exhausted but glowing, smile from where you’re resting. “She is.”

Erwin doesn’t take his eyes off the baby. He’s faced Titans, led su1cidal charges, and stared death in the face more times than he can count—but this? This is the most terrifying thing he’s ever done.

“What if I don’t know how to do this?” he admits, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain.

You reach for his hand, brushing your fingers over his wrist. “You led hundreds of soldiers through hell, Erwin. I think you’ll manage one baby.”

He exhales a quiet chuckle, but the weight in his chest doesn’t fade. He never planned for this, never imagined a future where he would have something so fragile—so worth living for.