Reiner's face was drained of color. His lips parted, but no sound came. For the first time, he understood.
"What the commander means," Annie said evenly, her eyes narrowing as if weighing each word,
"is that it's not just about completing the mission. We have to come back alive, too."
Zeke gave the faintest nod. "Exactly."
The weight of it crushed Reiner. His knees trembled, and his breath grew ragged. "The mission fails… my mother will be sent up…" His voice cracked, and his body shook as though the ground itself betrayed him.
In that instant, the truth pierced him like a blade. Once their mission failed, it would not matter that they were "Honorary Marleyans."
It would not matter that they were warriors chosen to inherit the Titans. In the eyes of Marley, they would revert to what they had always been—disposable Eldians. Criminals. Every effort, every sacrifice, every dream of honor would collapse into nothing.
The thought drove nails into his chest. All his years of training, the blood and sweat, the desperate determination to prove himself—it would mean nothing. His mother, the only person who looked at him with pride, would be condemned alongside him.
"Reiner!" Zeke barked, snapping him from his spiral.
"Stop wasting time on pointless thoughts. We move. Now. The faster we reach the wall, the better our chances."
Reiner clenched his fists, forcing the tremor out of his body. "Yes, sir!" His voice cracked but held. He bit into the flesh of his palm.
Nothing.
He gritted his teeth and bit again, harder.
Still nothing.
The silence grew heavy. Bertolt and Annie exchanged looks, while Marcel raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, sir!" Reiner gasped.
"It'll work this time—I swear!" He drove his teeth into his hand again, but his body betrayed him. No light, no heat, no Titan. Only blood and pain.
His chest heaved. "How… how could this happen?" He collapsed to his knees, his pride unraveling with every heartbeat.
Zeke exhaled through his nose, his patience thinning. The words earlier had struck deeper than intended. This boy was unraveling before his eyes. How had such fragile resolve passed Marley's screening? Was the examiner blind, or had Reiner somehow bluffed his way past?
"Enough." Zeke's tone cut the silence. "Reiner, stand down. Annie, you're up."
"Yes, sir." Annie's voice carried no hesitation. She bit into her hand, and in an instant, light erupted. Muscle and bone knit together, and the Female Titan rose with thunderous grace.
Reiner watched with hollow eyes. Annie's form towered above them, steam curling from her body. The successful transformation felt like a knife in his chest. His own hands, swollen and bleeding, shook uselessly in his lap.
"Why… why only me?" he whispered. Again he bit, again nothing. Each attempt only deepened the humiliation.
Zeke was done.
He seized Reiner by the scruff of his collar and hauled him upright as though he weighed nothing. "Four hours," Zeke said coldly, dragging him toward Annie's waiting palm. "That's how long until shift change. In four hours, you will transform. If you can't—" His voice sharpened to steel. "—don't bother calling yourself a warrior."
"Yes…" Reiner's reply was barely more than a croak. His shoulders sagged, his confidence shattered. He looked like a beaten chick, silent and trembling.
Annie crouched, letting the others climb onto her shoulders. Her long blonde hair, tied and pulled across her torso, served as crude harnesses. Zeke climbed higher, standing atop her head—perfect vantage for a commander.
Once everyone was secured, Zeke gave the order. "Full speed. Don't hold back. Reiner takes over in four hours."
The Female Titan tilted her head in acknowledgment. In the next heartbeat, the ground tore open beneath her steps, and she launched into a run. Forest and field blurred as her strides devoured the distance. Thousands of meters vanished in seconds.
Reiner clung to her shoulder, his gaze not on the path ahead but on what lay behind. The wall loomed in the distance, shrinking with every second, and the tiny black dots of people upon it faded into the horizon.
Zeke's words echoed in his head: If it were your family standing there… what would you want others to do?
Reiner's throat tightened. His mother's face filled his mind, proud yet weary, always waiting for him to return with news of glory. What if one day she stood atop that wall, condemned, a criminal in Marley's eyes?
What could he do then? Nothing. Dead or alive, he was powerless.
The more he forced the thought away, the more it returned, gnawing at him.
A hand tugged at Annie's hair. Marcel climbed up beside him, his expression softer than usual.
He followed Reiner's gaze toward the fading figures on the wall.
"If it were my family standing there," Marcel said quietly, "I'd hope someone like Captain Zeke would appear. Someone who wouldn't bow to power. Someone who'd save them."
Reiner's eyes widened. "That's… treason." His voice cracked in disbelief.
Marcel gave a tired smile. "I know. We're Marley's soldiers. Our lives belong to the nation. But…" His voice wavered, "…I still hope my brother, Porco, survives. That's all I want."
Reiner stared. He knew Marcel's story. Porco was his last remaining family. For Reiner, it was only his mother. His father had remarried, started anew with a family that wasn't tainted with Eldian blood. They would never be sent to this cursed island.
Only his mother carried that burden.
If she were taken… What then?
The answer was clear, and it broke him. There was nothing he could do. If the mission failed, if he died here, his mother would be condemned. All he could do was hope—hope for someone else, a stranger, to defy Marley's chains and save her.
At that moment, nationality, honor, loyalty—none of it mattered. What mattered was survival. What mattered was family.
A hand pressed into his, pulling him from despair. Marcel's grip was warm, steady, and unshakable.
"Don't be afraid," Marcel said, his tone carrying more strength than his frame suggested.
"No matter what happens, I'll protect you. You'll see your mother again. I swear it."
The warmth burned through Reiner's chest like fire. For the first time, his heart wavered—not with fear, but with fragile hope.