[Inside the Wall – South Gate of Wall Maria]
Opening and closing the gate was not a simple mechanical task. It was a responsibility that carried the weight of countless lives. The garrison soldiers knew this well: if they misjudged the timing by even a second, Titans could flood in and destroy everything.
Today was supposed to be routine.
As always, when the crimson flare arced into the sky, the gatekeepers reacted immediately.
Chains rattled, gears clanked, and the enormous gate groaned open.
The first riders thundered in—horses lathered, carriages rattling, soldiers bleeding and pale.
Hannes, counting the seconds on his pocket watch, muttered under his breath, "One… two… three… twenty! Close the—"
Before he could finish, a heavy fist slammed into his face. He stumbled sideways, ears ringing.
"Don't close it!" his superior barked.
Hannes groaned, clutching his cheek. "Sir! The Titans will get in if we don't—twenty seconds are up!"
But the commander's eyes weren't on him. They were fixed on the returning formation, and for once, his voice shook—not with fear, but with wonder.
"No… not this time. Look closely! More soldiers are coming back than ever before!"
The gate guards froze.
It was true.
Normally, after twenty seconds, only fragments of the Survey Corps made it through. Broken lines, bloodied survivors, the crippled dragged on stretchers. The gate always slammed shut quickly, because that was all they ever had left to save.
But today—today the formation was still streaming in. The line wasn't broken. Carriages rolled in whole.
Soldiers were riding with their heads still held high.
Could this… be hope?
One by one, the gatekeepers' hands trembled as they lowered their weapons and stared at the impossible sight. Some bit their lips. Some simply let the tears fall.
When the last carriage rattled through, when the gate finally sealed shut with a resonant clang, a cry rose among the garrison.
"The Survey Corps is back!"
For a moment, inside the Wall, the air itself seemed to tremble with belief.
…
The column slowed. Horses shuddered, snorting foam. The moment they halted, Erwin wheeled his horse toward the carriage carrying Zeke and the young Warriors.
Four figures. All alive.
Erwin's chest loosened. Relief almost cracked his carefully worn mask.
But the children inside looked grim, not grateful.
"Scared again?" he asked gently, trying to soften their faces with warmth.
Zeke's eyes narrowed. "Is it always like this?"
The question landed heavy. His voice was quiet, but sharp—too sharp for children.
"Do you always sacrifice men as bait? Do you always lose so many just to get through a gate?"
Even Erwin faltered. For a moment, his steel composure broke, grief leaking into his eyes. "…Yes."
He thought of the soldiers who had fEren behind, the ones dragged screaming into Titan jaws to buy them ten more seconds. Men who had volunteered, who had trusted him. The weight of their lives pressed against his heart like chains.
"Then why," Zeke pressed, his voice harsh with false innocence, "do you still go out? Why throw lives away again and again?"
Erwin straightened, and though his grief still clung to him, his voice was fire again:
"For the freedom of mankind."
The words filled the air like a banner, the conviction of a commander who had long given his soul to the cause.
The young Warriors exchanged glances. In their minds, it was absurd. Freedom? These men didn't even know they lived in a cage. They bled for illusions, for walls built of lies.
To Zeke, it was laughable. Eldia is a tragedy. Eldia is a joke. You sacrifice yourselves for chains you cannot see.
…
"Don't worry too much," Erwin tried again, mistaking their silence for fear. "As long as you stay inside these walls, we'll protect you.
We're used to it."
Reiner suddenly snapped. His fists clenched, his voice raw. "Used to it? How can anyone get used to this?
Those people—your comrades—died unjustly! And the ones still alive, you left them outside!"
As if on cue, shadows dropped from above.
Thwip! The hiss of cables.
Levi and his squad landed lightly, their ODM gear glinting in the sunlight. Their faces were pale, their blades streaked with red.
Reiner's voice was cut off.
Levi's eyes swept over him—sharp, unbothered, as if asking, Do you even understand? Then, without a word, he carried a corpse forward and laid it gently onto an empty carriage.
That was what he had brought back. Not victory. Not spoils. Just a body.
"That's all we could recover," Levi said quietly.
Erwin nodded, his voice steady. "We'll gather the rest… next time."
The column rolled on. Zeke sat back, his golden eyes watching silently as grief settled like a fog over the Survey Corps.
…
The street was crowded with civilians. At first, the whispers were the same as always:
"Is this all that's left?"
Were the rest eaten?"
"Fools—if they hadn't gone outside, none of this would've happened."
"Taxes wasted again. Always the same useless corps."
But then—
"Wait. Isn't this… too many?"
Faces turned.
The formation was battered, yes. But intact. The number of survivors was higher than any return in recent memory. The corps that always came home broken had, for once, come home whole.
A strange unease flickered among the crowd. The insults faltered. People stared, eyes wide, their voices trailing into silence.
On this day, mankind seemed to glimpse something it had long forgotten.
Hope.