❝𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐.❞
— 𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐎 𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍
꧁꧂
SINCE HER VERY FIRST DAY AS A CADET, Valen had fantasized about enlisting in the Scout Regiment.
"Look who we have here!" the head commandant yelled, stalking her way. Spit flew from his thin, cracked lips, landing on her eyelashes and cheek. His breath—reeking of tobacco—nauseated her, challenged her self-possession. She resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, finding his cold, steely eyes too invasive for her liking. "And what do they call you?!"
"Valen Ferreira, sir!" Her name—carefully articulated as to not betray her anxiety—flowed smoothly from her lips. She'd mentally rehearsed saying her name aloud since he'd picked apart the first recruit three rows north. The commandant had swept through the lines of straight-backed Cadets like a vicious storm, leaving in his wake a trial of humiliation and discouragement, but she'd made a promise to herself while she sulking in her cell back in Stohess: no one would humiliate or make a scandal of her again. She'd endured more than her fair share of shame.
"Repeat your last name for me!"
Anything but my last name. "Ferreira, sir!" Valen repeated.
The commandant made a face, schooling his sunburnt, wrinkled features into a frown. "Ferreira?!" Valen said nothing, too focused on concealing a frown of her own. "What kind of last name is that?!"
And what kind of last name is Schumacher? She couldn't pronounce half of the last names she'd heard in the past fifteen or so minutes if she tried—she'd nearly keeled over when she'd heard the last name Eierkuchen. "It's the one my parents gave me, sir!"
"I know that's the one your parents gave you!" The combination of his thundering voice and the August heat beat her head around like a ball, the sides of her skull throbbing dully in a painful rhythm. "I should have known the second I saw your dingy face come into my camp—you're from one of those minority groups that made it inside the Walls too."
The way he'd uttered "minority groups" pushed her closer to the edge of her patience. On the wagon to the camp, a group of young men had leered at her from the other side, keeping their arms crossed as they exchanged whispered words. The woman who'd handed her her uniform had practically tossed the jacket and boots at her. The commandant inched his sneering face closer to hers, his noxious breath becoming even ore unbearable. "And what do you plan on making of yourself?!" he asked.
"I plan to enlist in the Scout Regiment, sir!"
"The Scouts, huh?!" He gripped her chin with his thick, calloused fingers, pressing dirt into her cheek, which was barely beginning to heal from being flattened into the cobblestone. "And what makes you think someone like you could make it into the Scouts?! You've got "whore" written all over you!" He wrenched her closer. "I bet those bastards from the Underground would love to get their dirty hands on you. You know how much one of you could sell for?!"
More than I earned in a year cleaning in Stohess. Part of what'd lured her to the Calaneth training grounds was the security its splintered wooden fences and towering watchtowers would provide. Not a single trafficker would even dare to compromise themselves by sneaking past the grounds' defenses. By the time the walls were behind her, she'd be strong enough to take them in on droves. "More than what the average person makes in a year, sir!" she answered, paraphrasing her thoughts.
"That's right!" Her scalp cried in protest when the commandant gave her braids a harsh yank, snapping her chin to the sky. "So if I were you, I would do my best to make it through these three years—otherwise, you might find yourself tied up in a wagon headed for Sina!"
Valen willed herself to stare blankly ahead as the other instructors laughed.
For months, she'd weathered his insensitive remarks, which continued until the following spring when the end-of-the-year rankings posted in the mess hall announced her position as future valedictorian.
Even then, some of the other Cadets still didn't take too kindly to her newfound strength.
Other than the bland soup and bread served in the mess hall three times a day, the possibility of wearing those blue and white wings that sparked so much outrage among civilians was what led her through those three years of arduous training, belittlement, and questioning. Knowing that one day she would be taking to the skies and cutting down monsters well over ten times her size gave her a reason to persevere, a reason to swallow down the vicious remarks from her instructors and fellow Cadets alike. The Scout Regiment had been an end goal, a means to reclaim the strength and power that'd been wrenched from her.
Never had she imagined she would be leaving.
In the dimly illuminated showers of the Orvud barracks, Valen struggled to find her duffel bag, her steps echoing from the wooden shower stalls lined up against the wall. Her teeth chattered, the towel clutched to her chest doing a poor job of defending her from the cold as she searched.
As she looked, Valen ignored the mysterious stains and smells around her. The showers were, to say the least, disgusting. The pockets of mold clinging to the walls, hidden in the shadows, made themselves known by emitting a humid, pungent smell that reminded her too much of her Cadet Corps days. Valen finally located her duffel bag, pulling out what she made out as an olive button-up and brown high-waisted slacks. She was surprisingly calm considering a hulking one-hundred-plus meter Titan was crawling its way to Orvud right now. In hours, the building would be flooded with soldiers, brimming with activity.
According to what she'd overheard on the wagon en route to Orvud, the Levi Squad had faced off the Anti-Personnel Control Squad—the squad to which Cloak belonged—in a cavern east of Orvud in an attempt to retrieve Eren and Historia. Though they'd managed to recover Eren and Historia from the grasp of Rod Reiss—Historia's father—things took a turn for the worse, as they always did: Rod consumed a mysterious serum that transformed him into the hideous monstrosity that threatened the lives of tens of thousands of people.
Valen wished she could care, but couldn't bring herself to.
Hairbrush in hand, Valen edged closer to a cracked mirror mounted on the wall. Her eyes never strayed from her reflection as she pulled back her dripping, raven hair. The thirty-minute nap she'd taken on the wagon to Orvud had done little to lighten the darkening rings sitting under her eyes, making her gaze—already murky from physical and mental exhaustion—even wearier. Her face had sharpened, lost its soft curves. She was beginning to resemble how she truly felt on the inside.
Fractured, wounded, weak.
Easy. The only thing keeping her from falling apart was the promise of beginning anew and living the more simplistic, more pleasant life awaiting her once she arrived in Wall Rose. What she'd be doing once she arrived, only heavens knew—but she had to get away from the Scout Regiment, from her obsession with strength.
Even if it meant abandoning Levi.
Valen found her hair tie and snapped it up with astounding speed. As she slid it onto her wrist, a pair of footsteps echoed from the corridor. She presumed it was one of Orvud's personnel, but as they slowed to a stop nearing the showers' entryway, her lips pursed and her shoulders tensed—the last thing Valen wanted was for someone to see her like this. She quickened her movements, prying her hair tie from her wrist until the unwanted visitor stopped completely at the door.
"Valen." She recognized the voice, noting it lacked its usual brio. With a fistful of hair in her hand, she craned her head toward the showers' entryway, finding Hange lingering at the doorframe. The Section Commander was in her more casual get-up, sporting a simple white button-up and brown slacks. How long had it been since they'd last spoken? To Valen, it felt like eternities since Hange had come to the cabin to inform them of Pastor Nick's death.
Valen wondered if she already knew of her discharge.
"Pardon the intrusion," Hange apologized. "I understand you're more of a solitary person."
"You're alright." Worry stabbed Valen in the gut when she made out the thick, heavy bandaging shrouding Hange's shoulder—she remembered hearing Hange had fought in the cavern alongside the Levi Squad. That, and her sagging posture gave away that she was in pain. "How are you feeling?"
"Not too bad considering I took a hook to the shoulder." Hange scuffled inside, slumping down on the wooden bench that stretched across the room. Valen resumed what she was doing, fishing in her bag for her pendant and clipping it around her neck. "Is it true you're being discharged from the Scout Regiment?"
Valen's hands froze on the chain—so word had reached Hange. "Yes," Valen confirmed, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
"Oh." The word sounded airy, punched from her lungs. Valen had expected a more blaring response considering Hange was the one she was speaking to. Then again, she was injured. "And when are you leaving?"
"Before the end of the week." The coup had thrown everything into chaos, including transportation. All she knew was that it'd be a few days before she could even hear a word on the next boat sailing out to Calaneth. "An exact date isn't known."
"I see." Valen spritzed on perfume, rubbing the fragrance into her wrists and neck. "And does Levi know of this?"
Valen stiffened. At some point on the way to Orvud, it'd crossed her mind that she would have to tell Levi something, but she'd neglected the idea, promising herself that she would come up with something eventually. Eventually, though, was beginning to sound like never, and as the clock ticked by, the thought of leaving without saying a thing beguiled her more. "No. No, he does not," she answered.
"Well then?" Valen moved about, reorganizing her belongings before zipping up her bag. "When are you going to break the news?"
"I..." Her mind was already weaving a lie together—that she'd make a stop right now and inform him of her departure—but knowing Hange, Valen didn't want to test her luck (if she even had any). Hange was a million things, unhinged included, but gullible was not one of them. The Section Commander would sniff out her dishonesty quicker than a hound. "To be truthful, I don't plan on telling him."
Hange shifted on the bench, shooting her a scathing look that made Valen's blood run cold. "So you're going to leave without saying a thing? Just like that?!" The Section Commander sharply turned away, shaking her head. "You can't be serious."
"After everything that's happened, I am the last person Levi wants to see," Valen said. That, and I'm sick and tired of arguing with him. "It's for the best him and I don't cross paths again."
"Oh, no, I don't think so!" Hange lurched to her feet, crossing the distance between them with startling speed. The smell of healing ointment hit Valen as the floor vanished from under her, Hange using her good arm to lift by her collar.
"Hange, please—" Valen began.
"Do you have any idea as to how shameless you look right now?! The fact that Levi was even willing to place any semblance of trust in you is mind-boggling!" Hange shook Valen—she prayed her shirt wouldn't rip. "What happened was that someone placed a great deal of trust in you even when they had every reason to distrust you, and you still had the nerve to violate it! And you endangered your subordinates in the process! Why you felt the need to do something so outrageous as betraying your comrades is beyond me!"
Valen flinched, Hange's raw anger ripping through her like a thorned whip. Her flaring nostrils, the dangerous gleam in her lenses, it made her shiver. Never had she expected such a bubbly person like Hange to strike so much fear into her. Valen wanted to plead with Hange to let her go, but deep down, she knew she deserved it: she had done something wrong. Something not worth the trouble or the guilt.
Hange was completely in the right.
Just when the fabric of her shirt was beginning to give, Hange winced, the pain from her injury cracking her scowl into pieces. She released Valen, who came close to slipping on the still-drying tile. "Shit," Hange hissed through clenched teeth. Valen moved to assist her, but Hange swiftly raised a hand as she straightened.
"Don't worry about me," Hange assured. Valen backed away as Hange rolled back her shoulders. Valen opened her mouth to change the subject, closing it again when Hange began moving toward her. Her chest tightened, and Valen mentally prepared herself knowing Hange wasn't finished with her.
So when Hange gently placed a hand on her shoulder, Valen blinked, confounded by her sudden display of kindness.
"Why you did what you did is something I do not understand and is something I'm not going to try to understand. Ultimately, that is for you to reflect over," Hange said. "But allow me to ask you this: are you at all happy with the decision you made back there?"
Valen mulled over the question, then shook her head. Perhaps going after Cloak had been brilliant in theory, but she'd put so much on the line when she hadn't even captured her. Trying to kill Cloak had landed her in the very predicament she was in now. "No," she responded, solemn.
"I didn't think so, either." Hange took Valen's hands in her own, and this time, Valen wasn't thinking about the grime or bacteria that was possibly on them. They were calloused (burnt in a couple of places, too), but no less comforting. "It's a shame you've decided to leave so early on in your career—I know you would have grown into a fine soldier. I'll respect your decision regardless. But if you're going to leave, then the least you can do is own up to what you've done and inform him of your decision. Because you are the only one who can make things right. Don't leave things the way they are right now."
Valen gave a small exhale—she agreed with her. If she'd had the audacity to act against his commands, that meant that somewhere inside of her resided the courage to accept responsibility. Still, she feared what the conversation would look like. The wounds were still too fresh. "He's going to be pissed when he sees me," she murmured.
"Obviously." Hange squeezed her hand and released it. "But I believe in you."
But I believe in you. Valen's chest warmed. Hange had been the one she'd judged the harshest when she first joined the Scout Regiment, but after so much time, Valen was just beginning to realize Hange was one of the rare people who genuinely respected her. Guilt welled inside her. "Alright then. I'll talk to him."
Something resembling a smile appeared on her face. "I knew you could do it," she said, beaming. Valen tried returning the smile, but gave up halfway—she couldn't bring herself to. "He's in the dormitory wing. Second floor, third door on the right," Hange said. "If I were you, I'd go right now. It's going to be hectic in the morning, and there's no telling what'll happen when Rod's Titan shows up."
"Second floor, third door on the right..." Valen repeated, ingraining the information in her head. Hange turned and started toward the entryway. "Where are you going?"
"To the infirmary. I was supposed to be there half an hour ago." Hange pivoted, stopping by the doorway. "Even though Levi might call me foolish, I still trust in you because I believe you can do better. You've already broken Levi's trust. Don't break mine."
"I won't." Hange left, her footsteps fading until only the dripping of the showers filled the space. The near-silence was almost crushing, but not as crushing as the weight of her thoughts. Hange's lecture bounced around in her head, and for once, Valen forced herself to think about what'd she say to Levi.
She's right—I can't just leave things like this.
Valen examined her reflection again before stowing her bag in a locker. She blew out the candle and exited, entering a long, echoing corridor not much lighter than the showers. Following the directions Hange had given her, she rounded a couple of corners until she entered the barracks' main corridor.
As she walked along, Valen absorbed various of the building's details, its architecture and design stirring memories from weeks ago when she and Levi had stayed together in the Trost barracks—when she'd first disclosed her theory to him, when they'd drank tea together while they waited for the sun to set. It agonized her knowing that everything that'd unraveled between them was not only going away, but it was never coming back.
That what could have been was no longer going to be.
The sign Hange had described to her gradually came into view, the arrow carved into the wood pointing rightward. Turning the corner, she entered the hallway leading to the dormitory wing. A stairwell awaited her at the end, leading Valen to the second floor.
Reaching the landing, Valen slowed to a halt, partly exhausted, partly nauseous. She pressed herself to a wall, inhaling and exhaling until the walls no longer wobbled back and forward. The cold stone on her skin reeled her back to the present, keeping her mind on the task.
How am I ever going to do this?
Valen drifted to the hallway's right side, ambling along until finding the third door. Even if Hange hadn't told her which door, she would have known just by standing outside it—the smell of tea wafted out from the gaps in the doorway. For a second, her mind blanked, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what she was doing.
I really am doing this.
Hesitantly, Valen knocked on the door.
"Name and business?"
The butterflies in her chest defied her, taking flight by the hundreds at the sound of his voice. His words, lower than they usually were, gave away how tired he was, dragging along on every syllable. In spite of his tiredness, they still carried their usual rigid tone.
"It's me," Valen said, lacking the courage to even utter her name. Would he even let her come in? Even worse, would she have to apologize from outside of the room? "Can we talk?"
There was a pause, and Valen swallowed. Her worries had become reality. She was going to have to apologize from her side of the door.
I should have never come—
"Come in." A small weight lifted from her chest. Valen cracked open the door just enough to slide through the gap. Entering, she noted how the room looked exactly like hers in Trost—Walls, did the military decorate all their barracks the same way? The bed-nightstand-table combination was beginning to pain her eyes.
Valen closed the door. Levi was across the room, sitting at a table, legs crossed and holding a cup of tea. He wore the same gray shirt and slacks she'd last seen him in, but knowing him, he probably owned six of both garments packed in his bag. He was slouched over in his chair, an elbow propped on the table. His bangs, hanging over his face, obscured his eyes from view. She could have mistook him for a statue—in the minute or so she'd been in the room, he hadn't moved in the slightest.
"Good evening—" Valen began.
"What do you want?" Levi cut in, shredding her greeting to pieces. Even with his face partially hidden, she could see his expression, including his dangerously pronounced scowl and warped lips. She sensed his scrutinizing gaze pry her apart, urging her step back out and never return.
Say what you need to say then go. Valen shoved down her anxiety and cleared her throat, relaxing her tensing shoulders. "I am well aware that I am the last person you'd like to see right now, and that is completely justified. You have every right to resent me." Instead of answering, Levi pressed his lips to the cup's adorned rim. Valen stood, awaiting his response. He lowered his cup onto the table, saying nothing.
Valen decided to continue.
"I do not like this any more than you do, so I'll make this as concise as I can," Valen said. "What I did was wrong. We had a truce, and I violated the terms. Despite our differing perspectives, you still decided to trust in me, and by violating that truce I violated that sense of trust. You entrusted me with a position of power and instead of acting responsibly, I behaved foolishly and irrationally and endangered my comrades when I should have been doing everything in my power to guide them." Valen cast her gaze to the floor. "Whether you'd like to forgive me is completely your call—I only want to do what I can to make things right."
"Do you truly mean what you're saying?"
Valen blinked—it was not the response she expected, but in all fairness, she should have seen the question coming. She had broken his trust, after all. "Of course I mean what I'm saying," she answered.
"And how am I supposed to know if you're being truthful?"
An angry blush crept onto Valen's face. She knew she was not the most honest person around—that she tended to cheat around things when she wanted to, even if there was little to gain from it. She loved controlling people's perspectives through dishonesty so much it was an addiction—one she needed to end. "I have lied. I have stolen things. I have betrayed people. You're right—you have no genuine reason for trusting me," Valen said. "Whether you want to believe me or not, that is for you to decide. But if there is one time I would ever be completely honest, it would be right now."
"Right..." he droned, sounding unconvinced. This was harder than she'd foreseen. "So, I'm guessing you're finally giving me an explanation?"
Here he goes again. Part of the reason she'd been so reluctant to even apologize was that she knew he'd pull out the damned question. "You know I can't answer that question," she said.
"And why not?" Levi interrogated. "After everything that's happened, you won't at least explain to me what in the goddamn hell is going on with you?"
"I just apologized—what more needs to be explained?" Valen fired back, rage swimming in her veins. "What?! Would you like a ten-page essay on why I do things the way I do?"
"Listen to me, because I never asked for a ten-page essay on anything," Levi seethed. "All I am asking for is an explanation!"
"Again, that is an answer that does not correspond to you," Valen insisted. If he asked again, Valen swore she would have a stroke. "You must accept it is something you can never understand."
"Perhaps I would understand if you explained to me what happened!" Levi rose to his feet. "Why do you have to make things so much more complicated than they are?"
"Me? Making things complicated?!" Valen made a loud scoffing sound. "You have no right to accuse me of being complicated!"
"Is that so, because I don't recall sabotaging a mission and staying tight-lipped about it when questioned!"
"I already apologized—"
"Your apology doesn't mean shit if you're going to avoid elaborating on why this even happened in the first place!"
And what started as a strained conversation escalated to full-fledged war.