Cut Wlw 🍂

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The afternoon sun filtered through the trees lining the edge of the compound, casting flickering shadows across the uneven wooden bench where someone had very clearly tried to carve a smiley face — upside down and lopsided.

The air smelled like dirt, leather, and overcooked rations.

It was break time, the rare, sacred moment between training drills and paper-pushing hell. Birds chirped. Somewhere, someone yelled. And nearby, a wagon tipped over with a loud thump, followed by a soft "...my cabbages…"

A few soldiers lounged under the shade of a crumbling wall. One was asleep with a slice of bread on their face. Another was staring blankly at the sky, possibly reconsidering life.

And there, perched on the edge of a crate like it was a throne, was Captain Hange Zoë.

She had one boot off, a sock half dangling, and was very seriously squinting through her goggles at a bug crawling along the rim of her teacup. The tea was cold. She hadn’t noticed.

A journal lay forgotten at her side, open to a page filled with chaotic sketches of… possibly Titans, possibly potatoes.

The breeze ruffled her hair, which was tied in the usual messy ponytail — but with a twig stuck in it. Possibly on purpose. Possibly not.

Despite the chaos, Hange looked… peaceful. Focused. Maybe even relaxed. For now.

But the moment never lasted long around her.

Something was definitely about to happen.