The air hung still.
Zeke realized he wasn't acting like himself—too excitable, too manic—but it didn't matter. For once, he was happy. His father had finally agreed to stay with him, even if only for the little time left.
"Where's that little bastard?" Zeke asked suddenly.
Grisha blinked, startled, then pointed to the left.
Without hesitation, Zeke turned that way, resting one hand on the wooden door. Speaking in the tone of an elder brother, he said, "Hey! I don't mind that you lied to me, or even used me. But I hope you'll stay quiet from now on. I'll be the one to inherit the Founding Titan—not you."
Grisha stiffened. "You're… going to inherit the Founding Titan?"
"Right." Zeke turned back toward him. "And let's not bring this up again, Father. You don't want both your sons to die, do you?"
Grisha didn't answer, but his silence was heavy with pain.
"I've got ten years left," Zeke continued, his tone calm but weighted with quiet resignation. "Eren's still just a kid. Don't drag him into this. The Yeager family should at least have someone left behind, right? I'm already living on borrowed time. So let me use what's left to fulfill your wishes."
His lips twisted bitterly. "I've never been important anyway. Not to Grandpa and Grandma, not to you, not even to Eren and Carla. My existence only brings pain to everyone around me. So—whether it's saving Eldia or destroying the world—let me do it. Just let Eren live. Please, Father. Is that okay?"
Grisha's throat tightened. "…Zeke…"
Zeke pressed on, his eyes gleaming with conviction. "The future has changed! The future you saw had both gates of Wall Maria destroyed. But in reality, only one fell. That means this future—the one we're living right now—is different from the one you knew. Stop making choices based on outcomes you already saw!"
He stepped closer, voice rising. "The Founding Titan's gift of foresight isn't meant for repeating fate—it's to correct it! To avoid the same tragedies!"
Grisha's lips trembled, then curved into a fragile smile. "You're right…"
Hearing those words, Zeke brightened, hope flickering across his face. He turned toward the door again, speaking as if Eren were right behind it.
"Hey, Eren. You said that after you die, you'll leave the future to your friends. Then give me the present, okay? I'll protect your friends for you. I'll do better than you ever did. Just let me carry the future instead."
Silence.
"I'll take your silence as consent," Zeke muttered softly, almost as if reassuring himself.
But then Grisha's voice cut through the air. "No. If you inherit the Founding Titan, you'll be trapped by the Vow of Renunciation of War. You'll become a prisoner, just like the royal family within the walls—weak, fearful, and bound to let our people die in ignorance."
"I won't!" Zeke shot back, his eyes blazing. "The first thing I'll do when I inherit the Founder is restore every Eldian's memory! I'll show them the truth! And once they know, they'll decide their fate for themselves—whether they fight or hide, it'll be their choice."
He clenched his fist. "Everyone born into this world deserves freedom. Not Eren's twisted idea of freedom, and not one bought by others' pain. I won't decide who lives or dies—not even him."
Grisha let out a strained laugh. "You sound just like him."
Zeke ignored the remark. "As for the vow, I've already thought of a way around it. The Attack Titan's will can't be bound by the Founder. So if I inherit both the Founding Titan and the Attack Titan, I'll be free!"
Grisha's face darkened.
Zeke finally noticed the hesitation in his father's eyes. "…You don't plan to pass it on to me, do you?"
"I…"
Before Grisha could finish, Zeke reached out instinctively, trying to grab his arm—but Grisha dodged.
Zeke froze. His open hand trembled in the air before he lowered it slowly. "You… haven't decided yet, have you?"
Grisha pressed his palms against his temples, eyes shut in pain. "My thoughts are a mess. I don't know what's right anymore."
"It's okay," Zeke said gently, stepping back. "We have time. Think about it as long as you need."
Grisha didn't answer, his breathing heavy.
"But I hope…" Zeke added softly, "that someday you'll see me as someone you can trust. Even if it takes years to prove it."
"Prove?" Grisha murmured.
Zeke shrugged helplessly. "You still think I'm Marley's pawn, don't you?"
Grisha stayed silent.
Zeke sighed, walked to the bedside, and pointed to the unconscious Reiner. "Look, Eren—this is your precious comrade, right? I didn't kill him. He disobeyed me, ruined my plans, but I didn't eat him. Doesn't that prove something? Can't you trust me with the future?"
Grisha's eyes fell on the boy. "…His arm is missing."
Zeke rolled his eyes. "He'll grow it back. Don't worry about trivial things."
But even as he said it, he felt anger stirring again. If it weren't for Reiner's stupid impulsiveness, things wouldn't be such a mess.
Grinding his teeth, he reached down and pinched Reiner's cheek hard. The boy didn't stir.
"What's the point of keeping him alive?" Grisha asked quietly. "He's a Marleyan warrior. He'll never side with Eldia."
"That's easy to fix!" Zeke said, smirking. "You've got the Founder, right? We can change his memories. Rewrite his loyalty. Simple."
He pinched Reiner's other cheek, as if the motion itself could squeeze out his frustration. "See?
The Founding Titan's power is in our hands. We can reshape the world however we want. Make every dissenting voice part of one united chorus. Even Reiner could become one of us."
Still, silence.
Zeke was used to it by now—his father's still, unreadable quiet. He told himself it was fine.
Grisha had been through too much—murder, loss, betrayal. He just needed time to think.
Then came a voice—calm, measured, but final.
"It seems you and Eren get along well," Grisha said. "That puts me at ease."
Zeke blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
He turned around—
—and froze.
Grisha stood by the door, glasses glinting in the dim light. His face was blank, unreadable, and colder than Zeke had ever seen.
Before Zeke could speak, the door clicked shut.
Thud.
The sound echoed like a hammer in Zeke's chest.
For the first time in a long while, he felt… alone again.