better now | pieck finger

one

Fort Slava, near the coast of the continental mainland. After the war in the year 854

The aftermath of the war is a mess.

Marley won against the Mid-East Alliance, but even then, victory never manages to live up to the guilt that bestows upon your shoulders. Your stomach sickly churns for the fallen lives of many, regardless of nationality, and it surely doesn't fail to jump at the off-putting sight of what was once Fort Slava—despite already being days after the war, fallout still surrounds the fortress ruins, and you can't do anything in your will but to stare.

The fort was demolished by an airstrike led by the Warriors of Marley. A good number of poor Eldians were drugged, injected with spinal fluid, and ejected from the airship as the vessel of the Beast Titan activated the serum. Then, in a blink of an eye, Fort Slava was destroyed, and Marley declared its victory after four long years of war.

The bodies of fallen soldiers scatter across the bloodied battlefield. As you stare out into the open, completely petrified, you wonder how life would be like if you were ever born into the enemy's side—would your family also give you up to the military? To be brought up as the dauntless Warrior of your clan, you had to train yourself from dawn to dusk with almost little to no breaks because you couldn't afford to give up your spot; you had the vivid dreams of a persecuted Eldian, to be an inheritor of one of Marley's titans, but what if you weren't special enough to be born with the same blood as the Subjects of Ymir?

Surely, if you were born into the enemy's side, you would merely end up sharing the same fate as theirs, the dead and fallen soldiers of the Mid-East Allied Forces—a greeting from death so early on in your life and at the tender age of twenty-two. It bothers you so much that a bountiful of soldiers died at the hands of Marley's Warriors, the country's fighting force since year 850, but you shackle the revolting feeling in the very depths of your brain and get yourself to work.

The aftermath of the war is a mess. The Eldians are responsible for getting rid of the departed on the field. As you begrudgingly tie a piece of cloth at the back of your head, someone to your right softly calls your name.

"(Y/N)," the voice of a male smoothens, and automatically, you spin around on your heel to greet the man. Porco Galliard stands in front of you with both his hands buried deep in his pockets, but his intimidating form is instantly overlooked by the genuine concern that graces his features. He looks at you up and down, now with slight confusion at your new and sudden getup, and finally releases his hands from his pockets and lets them rest, crossed, over his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning," you plainly answer as you threw a dejected nod towards the open field. He peers pass your figure to spare a glance at the bloody grounds, then diverts his attention back on you. "Commander Magath's instructions. Why aren't you in the attire?"

He shrugs.

"Zeke's orders. He told me to take care of Reiner while in comatose. Can you come with me?"

"Huh? Where?"

"To Reiner's room."

"I don't take orders from Zeke," you say as a reminder with a shake of your head. Really, you're strictly not allowed to take carefree orders from other war chiefs, and even though Zeke is a close acquaintance, you can't bear to put yourself in trouble. "Sorry. I can't come with you."

But of course, Porco doesn't care. As vexatious as he is, he shakes his head and snickers.

"Pieck will be there," he muses as he poorly attempts to wiggle his eyebrows. Your mind swarms with confusion, like all the times he had flirtatiously uttered your boss's name, Pieck Finger, so teasingly, because what the hell does he mean by that?

"Hm, okay," you hum as an invitation to drop the conversation. Porco had always tantalized you for being so close to Pieck, the Cart Titan's current inheritor, but you have absolutely no clue as to why he does it. All the members of the Cart's Panzer Unit always get paired with the young woman because her eccentric personality bonds well with her comrades. You've been the navigator in Pieck's unit since 852, and speaking from the two years you've been with her, you've learned that everyone in the division is bound to get paired up with the woman one way or another.

"It's funny to see you hiding it," Porco speaks up once more, this time fully capturing your attention. You give him the benefit of the doubt and stay put to listen, though he's admittedly getting on your nerves because you still have a dozen of bodies to pick up.

You tiredly sigh as you grab your gloves, hastily putting them on as you silently wait for the boy's second wave of teasing-but surprisingly, it doesn't come, so once you've worn your gloves, you turn to him and flip him off.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Galliard," you say with a hint of annoyance. "I have some business to attend to. I'll get going-"

"Not so fast," he cuts you off by tugging your dirty uniform, pulling you back towards him so you tumble backwards and almost trip on your feet. "Technically, you're under Zeke's command because Pieck is in his team. Let's go to Reiner's room! Zeke's orders."

You grumble. You guess there really isn't a way out of this. Porco is a little mischievous shit, despite how unprofessional it is for you to call him that, so when he interlocks his arm with yours and starts to pull on you like a five-year-old, you let him be.

You let him drag you to one of Marley's airships, then watch as he beckons for the captain to start the engine. In a matter of seconds, the aircraft begins to hover above the ground as the landing starts to feel light under your feet. Its heavy machinery roars to life, completely startling you, as Porco calmly grips the straphangers and smugly leans back on the wall.

You give Fort Slava one last longing look. Then, as you bid it goodbye, you take off.