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' The training yard fell silent as the afternoon sun began its descent. Porco sat alone on a wooden bench, running a cloth over his blade even though it was already spotless. His muscles ached from the day's regimen, but the physical discomfort paled against the hollow feeling in his chest.
Tomorrow, Marcel would be gone.
He watched his brother across the yard, talking with Commander Magath. Marcel's posture was perfect—shoulders back, chin up, the model Warrior. The pride Porco felt was genuine, but so was the bitterness that clung to his thoughts like tar.
It should have been both of us.
The selection announcement still rang in his ears. Marcel, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie—chosen for the Paradis mission. Not him. And certainly not because Reiner was better.
"You're going to wear a hole in that blade."
Porco looked up to find Pieck standing before him, her dark eyes soft with understanding. She lowered herself to sit beside him.
"Maybe that's the point," he muttered.
"At least I'll still have someone to talk to after tomorrow," she said, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Though your conversation skills need work."
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Better than Annie's."
"A low bar to clear."
They watched as Reiner joined Marcel and Magath, standing at attention like he was posing for a statue. Even from this distance, Porco could see the eagerness in Reiner's stance, the way he leaned forward slightly as if straining toward his glorious purpose.
"Look at him," Porco spat. "He has no idea what he's walking into."
Pieck said nothing, which Porco appreciated. She never tried to change his mind about Reiner, never lectured him about teamwork or respect like Marcel did.
"My father's feeling well enough to cook tonight," she said after a moment. "We're hosting a small dinner for everyone before..." She didn't finish the sentence.
"Let me guess—Karina Braun has turned it into a celebration of her son's greatness?"
"She's bringing three dishes and has invited all the families."
Porco groaned. "Perfect."
The Finger household was modest but clean, with mismatched furniture that somehow created a cohesive whole. The smell of roasting meat and spices filled the air, and despite himself, Porco felt his mouth water. Mr. Finger might be frail, but the man could cook.
Marcel nudged him as they entered. "Be nice," he whispered.
"I'm always nice," Porco replied, earning an eye roll from his brother.
The Braun family arrived last, naturally. Karina swept in like a visiting dignitary, cousin Gabi skipping at her heels. The little girl immediately attached herself to Reiner, who hoisted her onto his shoulders with a laugh that grated on Porco's nerves.
"Our heroes," Karina announced, setting down a large covered dish. "Marley could not have chosen better Warriors for this sacred mission."
Porco caught his brother's eye and made a subtle gagging motion. Marcel suppressed a smile and shook his head in warning.
Dinner was a blur of forced conversation and awkward toasts. Porco sat between Marcel and Pieck, focusing on his food and avoiding Karina's attempts to draw him into conversation. When she finally cornered him, it was with false sympathy dripping from every word.
"Such a shame you weren't selected, Porco. But not everyone can be a Warrior, can they?" Her smile never reached her eyes. "I'm sure you'll find other ways to serve."
"I'll serve by making sure your son doesn't embarrass himself out there," Porco said with a smile that matched Karina's for insincerity.
A flash of anger crossed her face before she recovered. "My Reiner has never embarrassed himself a day in his life."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Porco," his mother warned from across the table.
The rest of the evening passed in a tense dance of politeness and hidden barbs. By the time they left, Porco felt drained. The walk home was silent, his parents too tired to lecture him about his behavior.
In the darkness of their shared bedroom, neither brother could sleep. Porco stared at the ceiling, listening to Marcel's breathing, trying to memorize the sound.
"You didn't have to antagonize her," Marcel finally said.
"She started it."
"What are you, five?" There was no real anger in Marcel's voice, just weary acceptance.
Porco rolled onto his side to face his brother's bed. "I don't understand how you can defend him. He's going to get you killed out there."
The silence stretched so long that Porco thought Marcel might have fallen asleep. "I own him."
"You don't own him shit, Reiner is the worst they could have chosen, what were they thinking, it should have been me. NOT HIM." Porco shouted at the end, feeling the need to release all his built-up anger, and shame flooded his body like a river; he had let out his anger at his brother.
"He's expendable," Marcel said, his voice flat. "And you're not. Not to me."
"You'd better come back," Porco said after a long silence. "Promise me."
"I promise," Marcel replied without hesitation. "Nothing on that island could keep me from coming home."
In the darkness, Porco almost believed him.
*
*
The cobblestone plaza buzzed with anticipation, banners fluttering in the morning breeze. Porco stood rigid among the throng of spectators, watching the ceremonial procession with a churning stomach. Four young Warriors—humanity's champions, according to the propaganda blaring from loudspeakers—rode atop a specially constructed platform, their expressions varying as widely as their personalities.
"Look at them," a woman beside Porco whispered reverently to her child. "Remember this day. Remember the brave Warriors who will reclaim our stolen power."
Porco bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. His eyes found Marcel instantly—his brother's posture perfect, his expression appropriately solemn yet determined. The contrast between Marcel and the others was stark: Reiner with his chest puffed out like a peacock, basking in adoration he hadn't earned; Bertolt shrinking into himself despite his height, his eyes darting nervously; and Annie, completely detached, as if mentally already miles away from this circus.
"They're moving!" his mother hissed, tugging at his sleeve. "We need to get to the station."
The families of the chosen Warriors were permitted a private goodbye at the departure terminal. Porco followed his parents through side streets, a shortcut that would get them ahead of the main procession. As they hurried, they passed Karina Braun and her family members, including the little girl—Gabi—who trotted alongside, parroting her aunt's nationalistic rhetoric with childish enthusiasm.
"Auntie Karina says Reiner will be a hero greater than any in history!" the child chirped to no one in particular.
Porco quickened his pace, pulling ahead of his parents. The less he heard from any Braun, the better chance he had of keeping his composure today.
Commander Magath stood at the terminal entrance as the families filed past. Inside, the atmosphere shifted from public spectacle to something more somber. The reality of what was happening—four children being sent to an island of "devils" with minimal intelligence and maximum expectations—seemed to finally register with some of the parents.
When the Warriors entered, freed temporarily from their public performance, Porco noticed how Marcel's shoulders immediately relaxed. His brother's eyes scanned the small crowd until they locked with his own.
The announcer called for final goodbyes. Porco watched the other families first: Karina clutching Reiner's shoulders, speaking intensely into his ear; Bertolt's father offering a stiff, formal handshake; Annie standing apart from her father, their relationship visibly strained.
Then it was their turn. Their parents reached Marcel first, enveloping him in a desperate embrace that Porco joined without hesitation.
"I'll complete the mission quickly," Marcel promised, his voice barely audible over the station's ambient noise. "We'll be efficient."
Their mother touched Marcel's face, memorizing its contours. "My brave boy."
When they reluctantly separated, Porco seized his final moment. "I should be going with you," he said, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Marcel's expression softened. "Take care of them for me, Pock." He ruffled Porco's hair—an annoying habit from childhood that now felt unbearably precious. "And yourself too."
The final boarding call echoed through the terminal. Marcel turned, climbing the metal steps. At the doorway, he paused, looking back one last time. His hand lifted in a gesture that was both a wave and a promise.
Porco would replay this moment in his mind for years to come—especially the way Marcel's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Years Later
"This meeting will come to order," Commander Magath announced, his weathered hands organizing documents across the polished table.
Porco straightened in his chair, glancing sideways at Pieck, who returned his look with a subtle raise of her eyebrows. They'd been summoned abruptly, and Pieck's cryptic smile suggested she knew more than he did—typical.
Across from them, War Chief Zeke Yeager sat with his usual composed detachment, spectacles catching the light as he adjusted them. Behind him hovered Colt Grice, notebook already open, hanging on Zeke's every movement with that familiar hero-worship that made Porco's skin crawl.
"We've received authorization for a critical operation," Magath continued, sliding a folder toward Zeke. "The details are classified at the highest level."
"It concerns our comrades on Paradis," Zeke elaborated. "Five years without contact exceeds all mission parameters."
Porco's pulse quickened. "You've heard from them?" The question burst forth before he could temper it with proper military formality.
"No," Magath replied flatly. "That's precisely the issue."
Zeke opened the folder, scanning its contents. "High Command has authorized a reconnaissance mission. The Cart and Beast Titans will make landfall on Paradis, create a controlled disturbance in a settlement to signal our presence, and attempt to establish contact with Marcel's team."
"Both of you?" Porco's voice sounded strange even to his own ears.
"Yes." Pieck's answer was gentle, her dark eyes watching him carefully. "It's just reconnaissance, Porco. Quick in, quick out."
Something cold settled in Porco's stomach. "And I stay behind."
"I'm afraid there isn't much use for you there," Magath stated, as if reading from a script. "Your presence here is strategic necessity."
"Strategic necessity," Porco echoed hollowly. "And what intelligence suggests our comrades are even alive after five years of silence?"
A heavy pause followed his question.
"The mission has been authorized," Magath repeated, his tone indicating the matter was closed.
"You're leaving Marley completely undefended," Porco argued, leaning forward. "If our enemies learn of this vulnerability—"
"Intelligence confirms all potential aggressors remain weakened from recent conflicts," Magath countered, tapping a classified report. "The timing is ideal."
"This gives us our best chance to recover the Founding Titan," Zeke added smoothly. "And potentially, our comrades."
Porco's hands clenched beneath the table. "My brother promised he'd return quickly. It's been five years. What makes you think you'll fare any better?"
"Our mission parameters are different," Pieck explained. "We're not engaging the Founding Titan directly—we're establishing contact only."
"And if you disappear too?" There was a long moment of silence in the room.
"I'll return, Pock." Pieck's use of his childhood nickname usually calmed him; today it only fueled his frustration.
"Marcel said the same thing!" Porco slammed his palm against the table, sending papers fluttering. "He promised! And now my parents barely speak, barely eat—they're dying from the inside out while we sit here pretending everything is under control!"
"Galliard!" Magath's voice cracked like a whip. "Control yourself, soldier!"
"And what about your father?" Porco turned to Pieck, desperation making him cruel. "Who cares for him while you're gone?"
"Medical arrangements have been made," Magath interjected.
"It's all been considered, Porco," Pieck said softly. "This is the mission. This is what we do."
Porco felt something breaking inside him—the same thing that fractured when Marcel boarded that train. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a sound like a scream.
"Galliard, if you walk out that door—" Magath began.
"Then what?" Porco challenged, already moving. "You'll send me to Paradis? Good. That's where I should have been from the start."
He didn't wait for a response, didn't look back to see Pieck's concerned expression. The door banged against the wall as he stormed through it, echoing down the corridor like distant thunder.
In the empty hallway, his footsteps slowed. Five years of anger and grief pressed against his ribcage, threatening to crush him from within. Everyone he cared about disappeared into that cursed island—first Marcel, now Pieck. And he remained behind, useless, waiting.
The metal door slammed behind him with a crash that echoed through the empty corridor. Porco stormed into the abandoned training room—the same room where he'd hidden five years ago when they'd chosen Reiner over him. The symmetry wasn't lost on him. Once again, he was the one left behind.
This time, instead of collapsing into tears, white-hot rage propelled him forward. He seized the nearest training dummy, ripping it from its moorings with a guttural roar before hurling it across the room. It crashed into a weapons rack, sending practice blades clattering to the floor.
"Not enough," he muttered, scanning the room for his next target.
The instructor's desk beckoned—that smug bastard Koslow always perched there, watching the cadets struggle through drills with thinly veiled disdain. With a primal grunt, Porco heaved against its weight. For a moment, it resisted—then toppled with a thunderous crash that sent inkwells shattering across the floor, dark liquid spreading like blood.
Breathing heavily, he kicked at a wooden chair, sending it splintering against the wall. Each act of destruction offered a fleeting release that evaporated almost immediately, leaving him emptier than before.
When his fury finally burned itself out, Porco slumped against the far wall, sliding down until he sat among the debris of his tantrum. His chest heaved as he forced himself to breathe deeply. The haze of anger cleared just enough for rational thought to return.
"Shit," he whispered, surveying the destruction. Challenging Magath, destroying military property—he might as well have handed in his resignation.
A soft creak pulled his attention to the door. It opened just enough for someone to peer inside, then closed again. Porco expected it to be Pieck coming to reason with him—instead, a small blond head appeared as Falco Grice slipped into the room.
The boy's eyes widened at the destruction but, surprisingly, his focus immediately shifted to Porco.
"Are you okay?" Falco asked, picking his way carefully through the debris.
Porco barked out a harsh laugh. "Perfect. Just redecorating."
Instead of retreating from the obvious lie, Falco moved closer, studying Porco's face. "You don't look okay."
"What are you doing here, kid? This isn't a playground."
"Heard noises," Falco replied simply. His gaze drifted to the overturned desk, its massive bulk dominating the center of the room. Without another word, he positioned himself at one end and began pushing.
"What the hell are you doing?" Porco asked.
Falco strained against the desk's weight, his small frame barely making an impression on the heavy furniture. "Helping... fix... things," he managed between labored breaths.
"Stop that before you hurt yourself," Porco grumbled, but found himself rising to his feet anyway. He moved to the opposite end of the desk. "On three. One, two, three—"
Together they heaved, and the desk reluctantly returned to its upright position. Falco stepped back, breathing heavily, a small smile of accomplishment on his face.
"Thanks," Porco muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Falco didn't respond immediately, instead scanning the room as if assessing what else needed fixing. Then, without warning: "It's because of Miss Pieck leaving, isn't it?"
Porco froze. "What?"
"The reason you're upset." Falco twisted his fingers together nervously—a gesture reminiscent of his brother Colt. "It's because you have feelings for Miss Pieck."
"How the—" Porco stared at the boy in disbelief. "Is it that obvious?"
Falco shrugged, suddenly interested in his boots. "Kind of. You look at her differently than you look at everyone else."
"Great. Just great." Porco rubbed his temples. "Does everyone know?"
"I don't think so," Falco said softly. "I just... notice things."
"Well, stop noticing," Porco snapped, more harshly than he intended.
Falco absorbed the rebuke without flinching. After a moment of silence, he asked, "What's it like? To feel that way about someone?"
The question caught Porco off guard. He studied the boy's face, searching for mockery but finding only genuine curiosity. Against his better judgment, he answered.
"It's like... carrying something precious and painful at the same time. You want to be near them constantly. When they smile, it feels like winning something. When they hurt, it's worse than your own pain." Porco paused, surprised by his own words. "And when they're leaving, it feels like someone's tearing out something vital."
Falco listened intently, his expression thoughtful beyond his years. "That sounds... complicated."
"Why are you asking about this stuff anyway?"
A deep blush spread across Falco's face. "Just... curious."
"Right," Porco said, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. "Just curious."
"I never made you tell me anything," Falco pointed out, suddenly defensive.
"No, you didn't," Porco admitted. "I just... I don't have anyone to talk to about this. My parents are barely holding together since Marcel disappeared. And now with Pieck leaving too—" The familiar anger surged again. "Everyone I care about vanishes into that godforsaken island!"
His fist shot out, connecting with a wooden cabinet with enough force to shatter its door. Pain exploded through his hand as wooden splinters embedded themselves in his flesh. Blood immediately welled from multiple punctures, dripping onto the floorboards.
"Your hand!" Falco exclaimed, eyes wide.
Porco stared at his bloodied knuckles with detached fascination. The pain had a clarifying effect, momentarily drowning out the emotional turmoil. "I'm not going to the infirmary."
To demonstrate his resolve, he pinched a visible splinter between the fingers of his uninjured hand and yanked it free, wincing as fresh blood flowed from the wound.
"You need to get those out," Falco said, stepping closer. "Or they'll get infected."
"I'm working on it," Porco muttered, struggling with a particularly stubborn fragment that was slick with blood.
Without hesitation, Falco reached out and took Porco's injured hand. His small fingers were surprisingly steady as he carefully extracted a splinter that Porco had been unable to grasp.
"What are you doing?" Porco asked, too surprised to pull away.
"Helping," Falco replied simply, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on another fragment. "My brother gets splinters all the time from the training equipment. I'm good at this."
Porco watched in silence as the boy methodically removed splinter after splinter, his touch unexpectedly gentle.
"Does it help?" Falco asked after a while. "The pain, I mean. Does it make the other feelings less bad?"
Porco considered lying but found he couldn't. "No," he admitted quietly. "Not really. I thought it might, but..." He shook his head. "It just adds physical pain to everything else."
"Then maybe don't punch any more cabinets," Falco suggested, the hint of a smile in his voice as he worked on a particularly deep splinter.
Despite everything, Porco felt a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Smart kid."
"I try to remember good things when I feel bad," Falco offered, not looking up from his task. "But sometimes that makes it worse too."
"Yeah," Porco agreed, surprised by the boy's insight. "Exactly like that. The good memories with Pieck, with Marcel... they all just circle back to make everything hurt more."
Falco nodded as if he understood completely, though Porco doubted the boy could truly comprehend the depth of his loss. Still, there was something comforting about Falco's presence—something genuine that cut through Porco's defenses.
"Almost done," Falco murmured, extracting one last visible splinter. "You should still clean it properly."
Porco examined his hand, still bleeding but now free of wooden fragments. "Thanks," he said, the word awkward on his tongue. "You're... pretty good at that."
Falco's face brightened at the praise. "You're welcome." He hesitated, then added, "And I won't tell anyone. About the room or... about Miss Pieck."
For the first time since the meeting, Porco felt something other than rage or despair—a small flicker of gratitude for this unexpected ally.
"I appreciate that," he said quietly, and meant it.
Falco finished extracting another splinter, carefully setting it aside. The silence between them had grown comfortable, but something was clearly bothering the boy.
"Earlier, you didn't finish your thought," he finally said, eyes focused on Porco's injured hand.
"What thought?"
"When you were describing how it feels with Miss Pieck. You said it becomes 'unbearable especially when...' but then you stopped."
Porco's jaw tightened. The kid had an irritatingly good memory. "I stopped on purpose."
"But why?" Falco looked up, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Did something happen?"
Porco exhaled slowly, weighing his options. He could shut this down immediately, but something about the earnestness in Falco's expression made that difficult. "Kid, this isn't exactly appropriate conversation. Some things you learn when you're older."
"Is it some kind of secret?" Falco asked, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"It's called 'adult business,' and yes, adults keep certain things from children. It's how the world works. You should ask your parents."
Falco frowned, his fingers momentarily pausing their work. "But if grown-ups are hiding things from me, they won't suddenly tell me just because I ask about it." His logic was surprisingly sound for someone so young.
"That's... not exactly how it works," Porco muttered, uncomfortable with the boy's persistence.
Falco suddenly changed tactics, his expression shifting to one of such innocent pleading that Porco almost laughed. Almost.
"Just a small hint? Please?"
"Gods, kid." Porco ran his uninjured hand through his hair. "You're relentless, you know that?"
Falco didn't respond, just continued looking at him with those damned expectant eyes.
"Alright! We had a... moment, okay?" Porco finally relented, instantly regretting it. "After Marcel disappeared, I was in a bad place. Pieck found me one night when I couldn't sleep, and she just... stayed with me. Held me while I..." He cleared his throat. "Something changed between us, at least for me. But Pieck has always maintained certain... boundaries. And that's all you're getting, understand?"
He tried his best to sound authoritative, like Magath delivering orders. Judging by Falco's expression, he'd failed miserably.
"Your turn," Porco said, desperate to shift focus. "What's with all these questions? And don't give me that 'just curious' line again. The truth."
The effect was immediate. Color flooded Falco's face, spreading from his cheeks to his ears in a crimson wave.
"I think..." The boy's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I think I might have feelings for someone too."
Porco blinked, momentarily stunned. "You've got to be kidding me. You're what, eight?"
"Nine next month," Falco corrected, as if that somehow made him suddenly an adult.
"Nine. Great." Porco shook his head. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, playing with toy soldiers or collecting trading cards? This kind of stuff isn't supposed to start until you're older."
"But I feel exactly what you described!" Falco insisted, his voice gaining confidence. "When she's around, everything feels brighter. My stomach gets all fluttery when she smiles at me."
"God help me," Porco muttered. "Look, kid, these things come later. Much later."
"But if I keep feeling this way when I'm older..." Falco hesitated, his voice uncertain. "Should I tell her how I feel?"
"Maybe someday, but—"
"Should I try to kiss her?" Falco interrupted, leaning forward eagerly.
"Absolutely not!" Porco nearly shouted, genuinely alarmed now. This conversation had veered into territory he was completely unprepared to navigate. "None of that is appropriate until you're much, much older. Understand?"
Falco nodded solemnly, though Porco wasn't entirely convinced the message had landed.
With perfect timing, the last visible splinter came free from Porco's hand. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the sting of open wounds.
"I need to clean this," he announced, already backing toward the door. "Thanks for the help with the splinters."
"You're welcome," Falco replied. "And I won't tell anyone about the furniture."
"Appreciate it," Porco muttered, reaching the doorway. The moment he crossed the threshold, he turned and strode quickly down the corridor, resisting the urge to break into a run.
For the rest of the day, Porco deliberately avoided the places Pieck might be. He knew she would be boarding the evening train with Zeke, beginning their journey to the harbor and then to Paradis Island. Part of him ached to see her one last time, to stand on the platform and watch until the train disappeared from view. Another part couldn't bear the thought of yet another goodbye.
As twilight settled over the compound, Porco found himself on the rooftop of the barracks, a spot where he and Marcel used to escape for moments of peace. In the distance, he could just make out the station, a plume of steam rising as the evening train prepared for departure.
Once again, he would remain behind while others moved forward. His existence had become a series of waitings—waiting for Marcel to fulfill his promise, waiting for Pieck to return safely, waiting for news from an island that seemed to swallow everyone he cared about. Hell, at this point he'd welcome even Reiner's return if it meant everyone else came home too.
The train whistle echoed across the compound, faint but unmistakable. Porco closed his eyes, picturing Pieck's face in the window, heading toward uncertainty while he stayed behind in a different kind of limbo.
"Come back," he whispered into the cooling evening air. "All of you, just come back." '
Now
"Porco, Porco, Porco, Porco!" Damn it, he cursed under his breath as he turned around just in time as Falco stopped in front of him, his hands slapping his knees from exhaustion; his face had turned red, and he was sweating like his face was melting. For him to run like this and to look so anxious could mean only one thing.
"Falco, please don't tell me you kissed Gabi or something." Porco pleaded as Falco took deep breaths, still not answering.
Since the day they talked and Pieck left with Zeke and Commander Magath, Porco had decided to spend more time with the new generation of warriors. He had little to do with his time, so spending time with them and giving tips here and there was the only thing he was good at, right now.
It took some time to get to know all of them, but when he first met Gabi. It had been difficult not to insult her; she reminded him too much of Reiner, to the point that he felt like she was more his sister than his cousin. After the first meeting, Porco had wondered just what Falco saw in her, but instead of insulting his taste in girls, he decided to be more subtle and tell him that with time, things could change between them and that he needed to understand that.
Now, over six months had passed since they had left Marley, and Porco was getting more and more concerned as the time passed each day. As far as he knew, it took only around a week for a ship to sail from Marley to the Shores of Paradis, and Porco had seen maps of the island, which was quite a large island. Six Months was way too long.
"No." Porco gasped out the words as he finally gained back his composure and looked up at Porco. "General Calvi wants your presence in his office."
The words made Porco freeze in place. His heart almost stopped beating. He knew it was something important if the General of the Military wanted his presence. Porco was sure it had something to do with the Warrios, but at this point, he was afraid to hope that the General would give him the good news. Six Months had passed. Just what was taking them so long?
"D-did he tell you why?" Porco hated that he stumbled on his words. He was the grown-up in this situation, and Falco seemed to have noticed his anxiety, and that stung more than a bee.
"I don't know, Poco, and the General didn't tell me directly. Apparently, he told Captain Fauul to tell you, but the captain groaned and instead told me to tell you. My brother is already there, so don't make him wait." Lazy captain, Porco thought as he quickly walked past Falco, giving him a quiet 'Thanks' before walking away in haste.
Since Commander Magath left, Captain Fauul had taken his role until Magath returned; unlike the Commander, this one was the worst. He didn't really care about their training and barely did anything, but he was quick to insult them all the time.
It didn't take long for Porco to reach the General's office. As he walked through the headquarters, he noticed the looks of disgust and rage he received from every soldier, officer, and captain, but Porco ignored them. He reminded himself that his parents would be heartbroken if something happened to him. If Marcel ever returned, he would be disappointed with him upon learning that he had caused trouble with the Marley officers.
The soldiers opened the door, and Porco walked inside the oval-shaped office of the General. A round wooden table was placed in the far center of the office where the meetings were always held. Porco had been in this place only twice before. His eyes quickly found Colt, who was standing just a meter away from the table. His face was white, and he seemed like he was shaking on his boots.
"General. You asked for me?" Porco saluted right away as he walked deeper into the office. The man was old, and his eyes were almost blank, without any emotions.
Calvi was a lean man in his late middle age. He was well groomed and wearing a unique uniform that featured a sash running diagonally from his right shoulder to his left waist on top of the standard Marleyan tunic and shirt. He also wore four medals on his left chest.
"Yes. We need you to come with us, you and Colt," The General ordered as he stood up from his seat, grabbed a handful of files in his hands, and fiddled through papers.
Porco didn't like this. He had been hoping for good news, but the General didn't even bring it up. Porco felt the familiar feeling of anxiety growing on his belly. At a time like this, he wished Falco was with him right now. That kid had more self-control than all the other warriors combined. A part of Porco wished he was more like him, so he stepped, forward despite his better judgment and a voice telling him to do as he was told.
"General, has there been any news from the Warriors and the Commander Magath?" He asked with a steady voice, but the general and the other captains' glare made him almost flinch.
"Your devils are most likely dead by now. We have sent ten ships for the last three months, but none have returned. Now, shut up and do as you are told, devil." Porco kept his face blank. He knew it was dangerous to show anger towards anyone from Marley, especially a General.
He wanted to yell at him, saying that his brother was still alive, that Pieck and the others were still alive, and hadn't fallen to the Devils, but he felt Colt grabbing his wrist tightly, knowing what he was feeling.
Porco felt a lump in his throat; he reminded himself that his parents would be heartbroken, his brother would be disappointed, and he wasn't talking with Commander Magath right now. The man was someone who could understand them to a degree, but this was the General; this man would mark him as a traitor if he dared to raise his voice. And Porco reminded himself that Falco and the other kids still needed his guidance occasionally. Porco was certain Falco didn't need it, but he knew the little boy would be heartbroken.
So, Porco closed his mouth extra tight, almost afraid that the words would escape his mouth without his consent, and did as he was told without saying a word.
*
*
Why are we here? Porco wondered, and he could tell from Colt's face that he was as clueless as him. They had just arrived at training area thirteen with automobiles, where the warriors, besides the holder of the Colossal, would test their abilities for the first time, but Porco didn't understand why they were there. They had no Titan Shifters left with them. All the Shifters were in Paradis.
Porco fell silent as they walked through trenches before entering a small building like a bunker. Inside were many soldiers wearing uniforms he had never seen before, but the one that stood out amongst the rest was a man wearing a suit!?? Why was someone wearing a suit in a place like this? He turned to look at them as they walked inside.
"Ahh, General Calvi. It's good to see you again." The man's voice was annoying, and Porco did not like the way he smiled, as if he were some sort of businessman about to sell his product to the highest bidder. The General shared the courtesy in his voice but not the smile before stepping aside, leaving room for Porco and Colt to walk forward; the man noticed them before approaching them, the same fake smile splattered on his voice as he shook their hands. Porco was still at a loss for words; he didn't understand who this man was and why he was there.
"My name is Colt Grice."
"My name is Porco Galliard." He said the name somewhat reluctantly, but the man either didn't seem to care or notice.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Willy Tybur. I'm the head of the Tybur Family." It took everything for Porco not to gasp, something that Colt failed to do. In front of them stood one of the most important Eldians in the world. The head of the family that held the most powerful Titan was only beaten by the Founding Titan. They were the only Eldians in the World who could live a life of luxury.
"Mister Tybus, why are you here?" Cold gasped, but the soldiers seemed not to like his tone and the way he said the name. But Mister Tybur raised his hand, dismissing them, his smile not leaving his face.
"I have heard that Marley is currently in a difficult situation, and as friends, I feel it is my responsibility to aid them." This could mean only one thing. Porco's face brightened up with hope as Mister Tybur pointed at the distance, and they all turned and saw a woman standing by herself far away from them through the small square opening of the bunker they were staying in.
"The War Hammer Titan hasn't been used for fights for a century now, but we have yet to receive news from our allies from the Paradis Island, and the other countries won't stay put if they realizse that right now we don't hold the power of the Titans. We need the War Hammer to be preapared and ready to protect Marley as it had protected over a century ago in the Titan War." Porco found himself smiling. This was it. Pieck, his brother, and everyone else would return home. He still didn't understand what happened to them, but if they were still alive. They would bring them all home.
"Amazing!" Porco heard Colt blurt out as they all were given binoculars to watch the very first transformation of the War Hammer Titan. Porco could hardly contain himself; this was a golden opportunity.
With a signal, Porco watched as the woman sliced her hand with a knife, and a massive bolt of golden lightning struck her.
"What is Hapenning?!!" Many shouted, looking away from the bright light that engulfed the entire training ground, all five hundred meters of it, but Porco didn't look away as a body was growing where the woman had been standing a moment ago.
In front of them formed a muscular and masculine body. The head of her was covered by what appeared to be a second layer of skin shaped like a cowl covering its ears and much of its face, with only its eyes, mouth, and jaw exposed through a segmented mesh of skin, but the transformation didn't stop as small spikes grew out of her back, and spikes burst out of the ground near her, as she let out a roar that caused their ears to echo, and blood burst out.
Porco screamed in pain as the lightning finally faded away. A cloud of dust scattered away, revealing the complete form of the War Hammer Titan.
Everyone gasped, except for Willy Tybur. A smile of pride engulfed his face as he stepped forward in front of everyone, pointing his hand at the view. "Behold, everyone, for the first time since the Fall of the Eldian Empire. Marley has been blessed. Behold, The Blessed War Hammer Titan."
The War Hammer Titan stood thirty-five meters tall, holding two giant hammers; her body was covered by what seemed like knight armor. On her left wrist was attached a crossbow, and on her back was covered with spikes that reached down to her waist.
Porco, Colt, and everyone cheered as the War Hammer Titan let out a roar.
"But that's not all." Another signal and Porco watched as the War Hammer Titan was struck by another golden bolt of lightning. When the cloud dust scattered away, in front of them stood a fifty-meter-tall War Hammer Titan, this time holding a single great axe, including crossbows on her right and left wrists. Her helmet had changed. Now, she was wearing an Elite Knight Helmet. Suddenly, she raised her Greataxe in the sky before slamming the Greataxe's eye. At that moment, enormous spikes made of Titan Hardening burst out of the ground around her, reaching thirty meters; the spikes kept bursting out until they reached one hundred meters away from her.
"This is just the beginning, with enough training. The Blessed War Hammer Titan will be unstoppable." Porco finally felt hope in his heart. With that Titan on their hands. They could win.
Victory would be theirs...
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