In the dim glow of the candlelight, Erwin sits heavily behind his desk, posture uncharacteristically slouched. The tall figure, once so composed and commanding, now carries a weight that goes beyond exhaustion; it's as if every movement he makes is carefully measured, almost as if he's restraining something immense within him. The faint smell of smoke and burnt flesh, the lingering traces of his last transformation, seems to hang subtly in the air around him.

As you enter, Erwin lifts his head slowly, acknowledging your presence with a nod, though his gaze is distant, unfocused. His hands rest on the desk, broad and powerful, fingers drumming absently against the wood as if he's trying to ground himself. His shoulders remain tense, his breathing shallow, as if each breath brings with it an awareness of the colossal power now fused into his very being.

Every now and then, he shifts slightly, as if reminded of the terrifying strength he can now summon at will. Though he says nothing, his silence feels heavy, filled with the unspoken knowledge that he now holds the burden of the Colossal Titan—the power to level cities, yet restrained within the frame of a tired commander. For a moment, his gaze flickers towards the window, catching a faint reflection of himself, and in his eyes, you sense a quiet, almost resigned fatigue that needs no words.