"…"
Grisha didn't answer, but the look in his eyes was all the answer Zeke needed.
Zeke's heart ached, though his lips twisted into a faint smile.
"Yeah… I knew it. You don't believe me."
Of course he didn't.
"If you trusted me," Zeke went on, voice low but trembling, "the 'path' would already be open. I'm the key, but the decision to open it—it's yours. If you refuse… then it stays closed. That's how it works, right? Until the end, you still don't trust me."
Grisha said nothing.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back pressed to the wall. Between them stretched a distance that felt impossible to cross—just like the one he'd once kept between himself and Eren.
They were father and son, bound by blood, yet separated by everything else.
Grisha had stolen the Founding Titan, but without royal blood, he could never wield its power.
Zeke, on the other hand, had that blood. For Grisha to truly command the Founding Titan, he needed to touch Zeke—to open the "path" through him.
But once the path opened, control shifted. The First Founder only obeyed royal will.
If Grisha opened the way… the power would belong to Zeke.
And Grisha couldn't bring himself to trust him enough for that.
Zeke looked down, a bitter smile forming. After everything… and still, you doubt me.
But now wasn't the time for resentment. He only had one chance—one fragile moment—to convince his father.
"Fine," Zeke said, steadying his tone. "To answer your question—no, I didn't come here as a Marleyan warrior. I came as your son, and as Eren's brother. The fall of Shiganshina last night… that was my failure. I didn't keep my soldiers in line. I couldn't stop them from breaching the gate."
Grisha's fists clenched. "It was you!"
"I answered your question," Zeke cut in sharply. "Now it's your turn. I want to know something."
Grisha blinked. "What do you want to know?"
Zeke leaned forward. "In the future fragments you've seen… were both gates of Wall Maria destroyed, or just Shiganshina?"
Grisha hesitated. "Both…" He frowned, thinking carefully. "Yes, both gates were broken."
A wide grin spread across Zeke's face. "Perfect."
Grisha's confusion deepened. "Perfect? What are you talking about?"
"This means," Zeke said, excitement rising, "the timeline's already changed! We're no longer bound to the future you saw! I was worried that everything I've done might just be part of destiny—but this proves it's different. We're free!"
Grisha stared at him, bewildered. "Zeke, what are you saying? What future? How could you possibly know that?"
Zeke took a deep breath. His voice trembled with intensity. "You're not the only one who's seen it. I've lived it. I'm not just my present self—I'm also my future self. I died on March 3rd, 854. And on that day… Eighty percent of humanity was wiped out."
Grisha's eyes went wide. "What? That's what Eren will do?"
Zeke nodded grimly.
Grisha's whole body shook. The pieces of his fragmented visions suddenly aligned—the slaughter, the blood, Eren standing among the ruins. "No… no, that can't be true…"
Zeke quickly stepped closer, grabbing his father's shoulders. "Don't lose it again! Please—listen to me!"
The last time he saw his father like this had been through Eren's own memories—Grisha stumbling out of the chapel after murdering the royal family, horrified at what he'd done.
How can a doctor's hands become tools of murder…?
I killed them all—children, even…
Eren! I killed them all! Is this enough? Is this how we save Eldia?!
Now that same despair twisted Grisha's face again.
"I've already done what you wanted," Zeke said desperately. "I went to stop Eren—"
Smack!
Grisha slapped his hand away.
Zeke froze.
"Don't touch me!" Grisha's voice cracked. He wrapped his arms around himself, trembling, curling inward. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks.
Zeke stood there in silence, staring, a storm of confusion and disappointment churning inside him.
Finally, he whispered, "Why? Why can't you trust me? I came here willing to be your key! If you want to save Eldia, we'll save it together. If you want to rebuild the Eldian Empire, I'll help you! Whatever your dream is, I'll make it real. Isn't that enough?"
Grisha raised his tearful eyes. "Why, Zeke? Why would you do all that?"
"Because…" Zeke's voice softened. "In the future I know, the world ends anyway. Everything burns. Everyone dies. If that's our fate, then why not try to change it—to create something new? A different path."
Grisha shook his head. "And how would you change it? By… making the Eldians sterile? By erasing us from existence?"
Zeke flinched, the words stabbing like knives. Then he laughed bitterly. "So you saw that too, huh? Eren showed you the memory, didn't he?!"
"I saw enough," Grisha said quietly. "When we embraced, I saw it all. I saw your wish… and Eren's. The two of you are the same."
Zeke's heart sank.
Grisha's voice hardened. "One wants to sterilize the world. The other wants to destroy it. Both are wrong."
He paused, looking at his son—really looking at him. "You both think you're saving humanity. But neither of you understands life."
Zeke's expression cracked, something raw breaking through. "I've changed! I swear, I've changed! I don't want sterilization anymore. I don't regret being born. I don't regret being your son!"
His voice grew louder, desperate. "I want to live—really live! I want to change your fate, not destroy it! I don't care about nations or plans or bloodlines anymore! I just want… to play catch with you again. To throw the ball, catch it, throw it back. Isn't that enough?!"
Grisha stared, silent and trembling.
The two men—one burdened by guilt, the other by loss—stood inches apart, yet separated by a lifetime of pain.
Outside the window, dawn crept over Blanca, turning the clouds pale gold.
Zeke's last words hung in the air like a fragile thread of hope.
"As long as I can keep doing that," he whispered, eyes glistening, "I'll be happy."