It had been three long years since the Great Rumbling, an event that had ripped through the very fabric of our world, leaving an indelible mark on countless lives. The air still hummed with a quiet sadness, a collective memory of the devastation. So many people had lost everything – their homes reduced to rubble, their loved ones snatched away in a terrifying instant. The traumatic scars, both visible and hidden, ran deep, and I knew, just like everyone else, that healing would be a painstaking, generational process.
My journey to Marley's capital had been a long one, a quiet contemplation of what lay ahead. As the car finally pulled up to the curb, a sense of both anticipation and solemnity washed over me. The driver, a kind-faced man who had navigated the winding roads with impressive skill, turned to me with a polite nod. I reached into my purse, pulled out a handful of crisp bills, and handed them to him, making sure to add a generous tip. His surprised smile was immediate and warm, a genuine thank you that brightened the late afternoon. "Thank you very much, ma'am," he said, his voice laced with gratitude. I simply nodded back, a small smile playing on my lips.
Stepping out, I found myself standing before the imposing government building. It was a structure that spoke of authority and permanence, its tall, grey facade rising majestically against the sky. The air around it felt heavy, imbued with the weight of official business and the echoes of decisions that had shaped, and reshaped, our world. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the large, ornate doors and stepped inside, the faint scent of polished wood and old paper filling my nostrils. The interior was just as grand, with high ceilings and hushed hallways.
Almost immediately, an officer, stern but courteous, appeared as if from nowhere. He greeted me formally and, without a word, began to lead me through a labyrinth of corridors. The click of our shoes on the polished floor was the only sound, adding to the quiet solemnity of the place. We finally stopped before a large, unadorned wooden door. The officer knocked once, waited for an affirmative grunt from within, and then pushed it open.
"Malaika. You've arrived."
General Müller's voice was deep, a rumble that filled the spacious office. He was seated behind a massive, dark wood desk, but as I entered, he rose, unfolding his tall frame. He stretched out a hand, and I met it with a firm shake, a bright smile automatically blooming on my face. His grip was strong, reassuring.
"I hope the journey wasn't too tedious," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a slight smile.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Ah! It wasn't a problem at all, General. In fact, I enjoyed the beautiful scenery view all the way here. The landscapes were absolutely breathtaking, so I wasn't bored in the slightest." My smile widened, genuine and unforced.
"That's good," he responded, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. He then turned, his expression subtly shifting to one of serious contemplation as he reached for a file resting on his desk. He picked it up with a deliberate motion and handed it to me.
My eyes followed the movement, first to the plain manila folder, then back to his earnest face. "That's all the information you need to know about Mr. Levi Ackerman," he stated, his voice now lower, more grave.
I took the file, my fingers tracing the smooth surface, a sense of significance already clinging to it. I looked back at him, waiting for more details.
"He's the Eldian captain who greatly participated in ending the Rumbling," General Müller continued, his gaze unwavering. "He stayed back in Marley to help rebuild the infrastructure that was destroyed. As a thank you, we have built him a modern, two- or three-bedroom house." He paused, allowing the information to sink in before delivering the core of my mission. "Since he was injured greatly in the war, you will help him with his daily activities, and of course, the necessary medical care he might require."
I listened intently, my expression serious now. Understanding dawned, and a sense of purpose settled within me. This wasn't just a job; it was about caring for someone who had sacrificed immensely. I nodded my head slowly, taking it all in. "Yes, General, I understand completely. And I promise you, I'll take good care of him." My voice was clear, firm, and I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
General Müller's gaze softened slightly, a hint of warmth in his eyes. "I know you will, Malaika," he said, returning my smile. "We will bring him tomorrow evening. That will give you enough time to clean and prepare the house thoroughly. The Braun family were nice enough to host him all this time, but I think he needs his own space now. He's been through so much." His voice dropped to a near whisper, and a pitiful look crossed his features. It was clear he held a deep respect and sympathy for Mr. Ackerman.
"Yes," I echoed, mirroring his expression, a pang of empathy going through me. "I bet he's been through hell. The reports everyone hears… it's unimaginable." I thought about the sheer scale of the Rumbling, the terror it must have inflicted, and the courage it must have taken to stand against it. Levi Ackerman was a survivor, a hero, and he deserved all the comfort and peace we could offer. But my natural optimism quickly bubbled to the surface. "But don't you worry, General," I declared, rising dramatically from my seat, a cheerful, almost mischievous smile spreading across my face. I knew I could be quite a character sometimes. "I'll make him happy. You can count on it!"
General Müller, who had been watching me with a trace of surprise, suddenly let out a hearty laugh. The sound filled the usually quiet office, a genuine burst of mirth. "With your jolly personality, Malaika, I know Mr. Levi will be very happy indeed!" he said, his eyes still twinkling with amusement.
A little while later, after a few more instructions and a brief overview of the area, General Müller personally escorted me towards the exit of the building. He stopped at the entrance, turning to an officer who stood nearby. "Please ensure Ms. Malaika gets a lift directly to the house," he instructed with a nod. We exchanged our final goodbyes, and I stepped into the waiting car, a new sense of purpose already buzzing within me.
The drive to the house was relatively short, and I arrived later in the afternoon, the sun already beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The car pulled up to a neat, modern-looking residence, its architecture sleek and inviting. I thanked the driver, stepped out, and stood for a moment, taking in my new mission's base. It looked quiet, peaceful, a stark contrast to the bustling capital.
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the brand-new, gleaming silver key, feeling its cool weight in my palm. With a soft click, it unlocked the front door, and I pushed it open, stepping inside.
My jaw almost dropped. The house was even more magnificent than I had imagined. I was immediately met with a huge, open parlor area, tastefully designed and bathed in natural light filtering through large windows. Beyond it, an open-concept kitchen seamlessly flowed into a spacious dining area, creating an inviting flow. The entire house was fully furnished, and not just any furniture – what looked like high-grand, elegant pieces graced every room. The sofas in the parlor were plush and inviting, the dining table gleamed, and even the bedding, I noticed as I peeked into one of the bedrooms, was made of luxurious silk. This wasn't just a house; it was a sanctuary. And he deserved every bit of it, I thought, considering everything he had endured.
There was no time to simply admire, though. My mission was clear: prepare this sanctuary. I quickly located the store room, gathered all the cleaning supplies – mops, buckets, cloths, sprays – and immediately got to work. I started with the parlor, pushing back the furniture and beginning the methodical process of mopping the floors, listening to the satisfying swish and slosh of the water. Then came the dusting, wiping down every surface, from the windowsills to the intricate carvings on the side tables. I moved into the kitchen, washing every dish, ensuring everything sparkled, and arranging them neatly in the cupboards.
The beds were next. I stripped off the temporary coverings and replaced them with fresh, crisp sheets, smoothing out any wrinkles until they looked perfectly inviting. I took extra time in what I presumed would be Mr. Ackerman's room. I wanted it to be absolutely perfect, a true haven for recovery. I carefully made his bed, fluffing the pillows, and then, as a final touch – a personal one – I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside, nestled among soft cotton, were sticks of the Arabic incense I had brought with me, a scent that always brought me a sense of peace and calm. I lit one stick, watching the thin curl of smoke rise, carrying with it a warm, subtly exotic fragrance that gently permeated the air, banishing any lingering dustiness and imbuing the space with a sense of welcoming tranquility.
By the time I was finally done, the house gleamed. Every surface shone, every corner smelled fresh, and the beds looked like clouds waiting to embrace tired bodies. I glanced at my watch; it was already well past midnight. My own body ached from hours of continuous movement, a deep, satisfying exhaustion settling over me.
Tiredly, I walked to the room I'd be sleeping in, which was just as comfortable, though perhaps not as grand as Mr. Ackerman's. Without a second thought, I pulled off my clothes, letting them fall in a heap, and immediately stepped into the warm bath I had wisely prepared earlier. The hot water soothed my muscles, washing away the day's grime and fatigue. After a long, luxurious soak, I emerged, feeling a tiny bit rejuvenated, and quickly pulled on my softest nightgown. I then practically collapsed into bed, the mattress feeling like a cloud after all that work. My head barely touched the pillow before I was fast asleep, dreaming of clean sheets and new beginnings.