⌜ five ⌟
and i can have all the power
this world might allow me to,
but none of it would matter if i can't have you
TW: sexual assault, violence
— x —
HOPE IS ONLY EVER PROFOUND when you choose it to be, only ever enough to keep you from falling to pieces at the seams when you let it bloom rather than wither away.
One too many times has Astera found herself making the mistake of watching it rot and die down. She'd wanted it to flourish, wanted nothing more than to soar in the feeling so full of it, but when life had other plans in store, she thought there to be the only option of abandoning it. Resigning herself to an aimless drift in an ashen world of aimless dreams.
Only, she found that she could not.
Some arbitrary part of her recognized the helplessness and fed to it like wood fuelled fire, but the embers of hope kept alive instead. No matter how prepared she was to see them extinguished, they triumphed over her despair, willed her nowhere else but forward. Forward and forward, until she would reach a crossroad again and feel the need to slow down.
Astera always had a penchant for going at a tantalizing pace, keeping up the back-and-forth chase where she'd snatch ahold of her hopes only to let them go again, but it would seem to subside a little bit more each time.
Until gone was the choice of giving up so soon, swept away by the relentless wind like it never once existed—like it had never been a choice at all.
She cradled her hope in the palms of her hands, loose, delicate. She was afraid it would disappear the minute she held it any tighter, that it would crack into pieces more jagged than the shards of her own heart. She held it like a lifeline.
Her hope was porcelain smooth, flawless. Cold to the touch when she regarded it with denial, but it warmed up when she opened herself up to it, tore her little game of masquerade apart ( i'm fine! she'd say, but when she cried, it was never born from happiness ) and she laid herself bare before the onslaught of light, a million ways unlike the hail of darkness she'd been expecting.
Right now, her hope is profound. But it isn't because she's chosen it to be, no. That isn't the case this time.
Like the whole of Jupiter's godly wrath flowing through untainted mortal veins: that's about as close as Astera can get to describing the sensation that abruptly consumes her when her eyes finally open.
Even within a body that has always been a vessel of frailty, it feels just about right. The power underneath her eyelids when she blinks feels so damn right.
And unlike that transient surge of strength that flooded through her only long enough for her to stun the fatty with a kick to his nutsack, this one actually stays for the good thirty seconds she spends glaring at the ceiling while struggling to keep her mouth shut.
"Oh, thank fuck. You're gonna stay quiet now, huh?" Astera's mind barely even registers the huff Blondie releases, what with the unforeseen instillment of power in her that she's currently all but attempting to keep under control.
She manages to hold out for only until a minute has already passed, once the deliberate slowness in the motion of a hand begins to lift her dress up, and the temptation to have these men's asses handed over to them by a girl they so conveniently think has already given up is far too much for her to just ignore.
Besides, she's sick of all this.
So the next time someone presses their lips onto her neck and sucks roughly on it, she forces the entirety of her body to relax.
"What—"
And a sickening crunch! graces the air with its audible presence.
Slits of gray meet startled, multicoloured ones, and satisfaction blooms within Astera. She feels as if she's just set herself free: both literally and metaphorically. The overwhelming swell of strength allows her to forcefully pry her limbs off of the men's hands, all of whom have been rendered motionless by their disbelief. She waits for the flare of pain in her left arm to announce its presence, the sprain in her elbow from when they dragged her carelessly back down to the ground, but it doesn't come.
She nearly breathes out a chuckle at the expression on Blondie's face, looking as if he wishes he never even bothered to mess with her at all.
And she's not quite sure if it's the sadist in her speaking, or if it's of her true self's accord, but there's something else in her that's left wishing, too.
Wishing this strength might stay with her forever, as unfair to the rest of the world as that may seem.
The mens' initial shock wears off before long, and Astera curses as fatty and the two other guys tackle her at once, screaming profanities and all sorts of sensual demands that would certainly not have made Elizabeth proud.
Mother.. why did you have to leave for Sina?
Astera ducks as a man with jet-black tresses swipes a knife at her that she hadn't realized he's been carrying this whole time. She sidesteps, taking hold of the arm stretched out towards her and tugging harshly at it. She twirls them both around, the man choking on a yelp, before sending him tumbling straight at fatty, snatching his knife away in the process.
Blondie and his other ally have long since fled from the room when Astera searches around for them, assessing how many more scumbags she has yet to put in their place.
They left the door open, she notes.
"You slut!" the one remaining guy exclaims. He charges at her, fist lifted in a punch, but she dodges his every attack effortlessly. When she manages to land a hit of her own across his chest, drawing blood from him using the knife she stole, she's unable to suppress a manic laugh. Up until this point, vestiges of sexual desire lingered in his eyes, but she could see the fury building up in them now. Pain replaces it, however, when she stabs him in the side of his stomach and rapidly pulls the knife away.
She slices deep through the skin of his knees with the sharp point of her weapon, and he falls to the ground with a yell of pain. "Piece of shit— how did you become so fast?!"
Astera doesn't know, either.
Fatty and the black-haired guy attempt another go at her. She blocks the former's incoming kick and spits at the latter's face when he gets too close, slashing at their arms when they try to grab her own.
It feels like an eternity when their fight finally dies down, even if it's likely only been around a few minutes. The three men lay unconscious with their chests to the ground ground, red splattered across the cold stone and staining their clothing. Astera's heaving for breath, the knife hilt secure in her right hand.
I did that, oh my god, I did that to them.
She'd tried her hardest not to kill any of them, but at this rate.. she isn't sure if she held back enough to keep their lives intact.
She dashes out of the door, the sudden appearance of light blinding her for a moment too long, but she pushes onward anyway, relying more on her instinct than anything else. Once the need to squint just to see the way in front of her lets up, she stops to look around first.
Her cell, it seems, is only one of the many rooms in a vast, empty hallway. From this angle, it's a stark contrast to the poor condition she thought her prison to be. The floors are well-polished, the chandeliers glistening as they hang from a high ceiling, though the temperatures haven't improved much.
Either that or Astera's just shaking because of a whole other reason.
She opens the door to each room and searches for any sign of her brother, along with any clues those men might have left as to where they could've possibly taken him afterwards, but to no avail. It isn't as if she'd expected him to be nearby, but she thought it wouldn't hurt to check.
It is rather weird, however. She doesn't know whatever this building's meant to be used for, considering the interior is this exquisite at a glance but upon closer look is actually pretty forlorn.
There are no windows around here, too. She supposes that if she screams for help now, her voice would only bounce off the vacant air and past thick walls, echoing in the nothingness.
But there's no sense in stopping now. She has to find her brother.
Astera runs wherever her feet take her, listening intently to her gut-feel as she zooms past corridors and corridors of useless space. Panic reaches her as minutes pass and she still has no idea where to go, where the rest of her captors went, if there's anybody else waiting to pounce on her and attack, if Nico's somewhere around here and she'd been too ensnared in her adrenaline to even realize it.
Until she happens upon a large, circular room with a similarly-shaped table placed suspiciously in the middle of it—the very first piece of furniture she's found in a building otherwise forsaken of it.
The room is devoid of people as well.
On top of the table are several brown jackets, like the ones that soldiers have on for their daily, on-duty wear. Astera walks closer to examine them, all looking as if they've been recently-worn, and counts seven of them. The garments have been unceremoniously piled over each other, so Astera has to take one away and hold it up to distinguish the emblem of their owner's faction.
At the sight of a green unicorn with a white mane, she gasps.
And then she hears them: approaching footsteps, swift with intent, unceasing. The knife sinks heavier in her hand, and she places the jacket back down on the table to free her other one.
Seven men—seven soldiers.. but she'd only seen five.
As it stands, Astera has to make a decision. Run, thereby leaving this place and the memories of it behind ( trusting on the off-chance that they wouldn't chase after her ), or confront them, try to extract information out of them as far as her younger brother's whereabouts are concerned, and make sure they cannot ( will not ) harass any more innocent people like her again.
Astera sighs. Of course she'd choose the latter.
"Where did that bitch go?!" someone bellows, nearer now. Astera grabs one of the jackets again, then two more, before sneaking up to the doorway as silently as possible. She waits as the familiar strides of Blondie and that same black-haired guy she'd stolen the knife from earlier—wasn't he supposed to be unconscious?—proceed right past the room, waits as two more strangers follow close behind, surveying their surroundings but failing to spot her.
She exits the room and slams the two mens' faces to the floor when they're a good distance away from the ones up front, wrapping the jackets tight around their heads and necks. Their shocked exclamations are smothered by the fabric.
"What the—!" Blondie turns around right as his companion beside him grounds out a, "How dare you?!" and bolts in her direction. She throws the other jacket at him and knees him in the gut, aiming a roundhouse kick at Blondie's face when he makes a move for her waist while she's preoccupied.
Unfortunately, that plays to black-haired guy's favor, because just as she goes to balance her weight all on one leg, he catches her left arm, aggravating her sprain and pushing her up mercilessly against the wall. She whimpers.
"Now, now," he purrs at her, "don't make this any harder for yourself. I promise we'll take very good care of you."
Flashes of other people saying the same thing, over and over again, but not truly meaning them flicker in her mind.
Astera snaps.
In a single decisive motion, she flings the knife upward, marring the guy's right cheek with bloodred and one guaranteed scar. He screams at her and takes a step backward. The cut extends scarily close to his right eye, almost to the point of blinding him had Astera gone any farther, but guilt doesn't forge its way into her concerns.
After that, everything condenses into a blur. She hears bones crack, flesh meeting flesh, and even smirks at the sound of somebody screaming—no, pleading for her to spare their life, but none of it registers in her power-repleted haze.
She feels complete, in every sense of the word. Plenary strength touches the tips of her fingers, blossoms to encase around her thundering heart and settle there. But that isn't what sends her into overdrive.
Thoughts of Nico, save, and brother cloud her mind until there is nothing else left, until her whole life's purpose centers only on those three specific words.
There is a period of time wherein awareness dips into her desire to fight, fight, FIGHT! and her mind is redirected to the issue of whether or not she's actually willing to take on this power for the rest of her life. She's taken aback by the prospect.
i don't want this power ( you want it )
i'm not worthy of this power ( you deserve it more than anyone else does )
what have i done to be deserving of such power? ( it lies in your blood, my dear, there is nothing you need to accomplish to receive it )
but i don't want this power ( don't deny it )
i don't want it ( you want it )
i don't want it ( you want it )
i want it? ( you want it )
i want this power ( you want it )
This power is all mine to keep.
Astera was convinced that she didn't deserve to be a possessor of such transcendental strength, but as time went on—fluid and depthless in her outburst—she found herself more and more drawn to the sensation of immortality within her, entranced by the sight of glorious blood on the palms of her hands. The gods bleed golden ichor, she knows, yet she doesn't need to be a goddess to understand the rarity of this power.
She is nothing like herself and a better version of herself at the same time.
Astera isn't sure what happens after that. Suddenly, she's already outside, alone and driven by leftover adrenaline, the harsh night's wind grating against her skin and telling her to seek refuge. She no longer has the knife with her, nor any other means of offense apart from her fists, but when she looks back at the three-story, moss-ridden building she can now get a good view of, there's nobody trailing her just yet. She takes that as a sign to get away while she can.
Wherever 'here' is, it's elevated and definitely secluded enough to perform whatever despicable acts those undeserving soldiers had in plan for her—"and for other children like me," the realization comes through gritted teeth—with slimmer chances of discovery by the more genuine and duty-bound police.
She hasn't been to the vicinity enough times to know with confidence, but if memory serves her right, the spot where she stands overlooks Shiganshina's southeasternmost side. Fairly tall trees line the perimeter, almost tauntingly, but there's a wide clearing in the middle of them all—a sliver of silver lining.
She needs to find Nico.. but you can't do it alone, something in her says. Another urges, no! Turn back! Keep looking! Apparently, rationality hasn't fully left her yet, because she can still tell which advice is clearly the more logical one.
If she is to succeed in getting Nico back, William should know. Their father should know. And Astera needs to be the one to inform him.
That night, only the lunar luminescence up above bears witness to her fleeing.
For all of Astera's previous invincibility, her bare feet now throb with every limp step. She runs and runs and runs until she's left straining for breath, wanting nothing else than to give in to the ground that slowly transitions from grass to the familiar cold cement.
I can't breathe, please let me breathe.
She hasn't had an attack like this in a while. Her chest constricts and her lungs are searing and it feels as though someone's wrapped their massive fingers around her neck, uncaring of the pulse—the life they could very well end at any moment they might wish to. She sucks in the oxygen around her, over and over again, but it escapes her faster than she can ever get ahold of it.
She clutches at the hem of her tattered dress, tethering herself to reality at the feel of the fabric beneath her shivering grasp. The truth of the matter hits her all at once: you could've saved your brother. Why didn't you save your brother? You had all the power in the world, right there, right then. Why couldn't you find him? Some excuse of an older sister you are. Nico could be good as dead by now and you still wouldn't be able to do anything at all because you are weak.
Astera falls onto her knees, light-headed and terrified and everything's spinning the whole world's spinning the corners of her vision are turning black black black and is everything supposed to be dimming? why is it so dark in here? and she only realizes she's had her eyes squeezed shut when tears fill the space beneath her burning eyelids ( crybaby! ) and she has to keep them at bay, has to rein her emotions in so they don't end up getting the better of her. But it's just so hard when everything hurts and she's nothing if not a failure, chokes on a breath that she even fails to take in properly.
She feels disgusting all over. She feels filthy.
( Maybe because that's what she is. Filthy. )
When Astera thinks the worst is over, that she can take another step without needing to wheeze and double over first, she tries to stand. But she fails at that, too.
So she crawls, using just her right arm as leverage. Her left has started to twitch in agonizing pain again. Dirt and dust stick to her dress, coat her fingers in black amidst the darkened hues of dried blood that she realizes have been stuck under her fingernails this entire time. She resists the urge to gag—to throw up instantly at the sight. And she crawls.
Hardly anybody else is out around this time of the night, and Astera's thankful for the fact that there's no risk of a mockery, or worse, an outright shunning that she's sure to receive otherwise.
What's a 12-year old doing all bloodied and grimed and crawling like an idiot on the ground anyway?
Oh god, William. How is he going to react once he sees her like this?
He's going to be furious, no doubt about it, something in Astera says, and she's reminded of her inability to rescue Nico. To take him home and greet their father and show him the groceries they'd purchased. To tell him that they were alright. To make sure that those asshole men didn't dare debauch her brother in any way, that not a single strand of hair on his head was touched. To shower him with good-natured jests and jokes aplenty once she'd ascertained he was fine, and then ridicule him for his being careless of his cleanliness. To go back to living normally with him, as if none of this ever happened in the first place.
Easier said than done.
Meanwhile, Astera's vision only starts to deteriorate, eyes threatening to fall shut on her, her world swallowed by some starless nights and tear-grazed cheeks and bruised knuckles. Her arm hurts so fucking badly, it's beyond the point of tolerable. In the murky undercurrents of her mind, she thinks she hears a voice say Get up, but she can't bring herself to care—heart barren of all identifiable emotion, submerged into nonexistence by the numbness that then washes ice-cold over her body.
She doesn't realize she's long since stopped crawling. Doesn't realize her body's long since given up on her.
She curls up into a ball in spite of herself, mindful of her injured limb, leaning onto a nearby wall for support. Her breaths come raggedly, and she winces at the idea of not being able to make it home in time.
( She knows she can't, just doesn't want to admit it. )
The stars have begun to bestrew the night sky, illuminating the paths of Shiganshina further, but even as far lost in the delirium of her exhaustion as Astera is, she recognizes at least that at this point, she'd sooner crash to the ground in a heap before she could let the stars guide her way home.
In her daze, she returns to thoughts of Nico again. And then William. And then those bastard kidnappers. The perduring memory of their blood on her hands.
She doesn't know why, but she thinks of a certain blond, too. Thinks of the intelligence past all that portrayal of innocence. Remembers his ravenette companion, the young girl Astera had admired for having been strong enough to stand up for her friend, even against three teenagers who stood taller than she could ever hope to be.
Astera remembers having to look after a certain brunette, someone who was as stubbornly enthusiastic as her own brother, but whose teal eyes differed from his. She remembers the thrill of their meeting, how electrifying it felt to have an excuse to run free again.
And then.. she remembers someone else, too. The woman who looks just like her, only older. The crinkles in the corners of her gray eyes are embedded deep by weariness, but she smiles at Astera like she's got the whole world all to herself, right in the palms of her hands. There is a knowing edge to her expression, a sadness that continues to linger there, and with it is a sort of kindness that Astera can hardly comprehend. It is more than enough to highlight her beauty—her youth despite it all.
Illness, Astera imagines. It's instinctive; she's barely put any thought to it, but it prompts nothing like the pang in her chest a needless lie would invoke on any given day. Somehow, it doesn't seem at all farfetched, and that is what bothers her.
Because there is no way she could've gained that information consciously.
Astera stifles a confused groan. She can't discern what's fact from what's fiction anymore, the line having already been blurred to a terrifying extent by her fatigue. Consciousness has yet to abscond from her desperate hold on it, but Astera knows it's only a matter of time.
Another vision crosses the haze of her mind, that of a stygian dark setting and a sultry tension in the atmosphere. Something hard is pressed against her back. The obscured figure that looms above her cackles, and Astera doesn't know why she's on her knees cowering but she is, and then it dawns on her that she's been cornered to a wall but she doesn't want to be, and she's begging for someone to stop ( stop what? ) and her wrists are grabbed and she's flailing to get the unwanted touch off of her and I've seen this happen before.
But then light sheds the room of all its mystery—a man in his thirties wearing an inconspicuous trenchcoat and a rather conspicuous hat opens a door Astera didn't even realize was there. The look on his face screams bloody murder, but it isn't directed at her.
The guy who has his iron-grip on Astera's wrists instantly drops it, and she would've found the utter panic in his expression funny if the situation hadn't been so dire. He scrabbles at the wall behind her in an attempt to get up, seemingly ready to bolt at any minute, but the other man snatches the collar of his shirt with a sneer on his face and no room for restraint, pulling him back down on his ass.
The newcomer's lips begin to move, and though his belligerent gaze is affixed on the guy whimpering beneath him, it seems more like he's addressing her. The only issue is: she can't hear a word, and his voice is muted at the beginning of whatever it is he's saying.
"..ya' got that?" he finally turns to her, "Now get yourselves out of here, for fuck's sake."
Astera takes that as her cue to stand up, even as her legs quiver with the effort. She glances to her left—
Huh?
There, she sees.. herself. But younger. 4 or 5 years old, give or take. Young Astera is as dirty as 12-year old Astera feels right now, but there's a horrifying hollowness in her gray eyes that Astera hasn't seen on herself in the mirror for..
The vision's turned into a different one again. This time, she's in the middle of a bustling street, but the ambience isn't like what she's familiar with at Shiganshina. It's more somber than she's accustomed to, the malodour of alcohol and something rotten prevailing above all else. Her nose begins to itch.
There's a person holding her up by the arm ( she notes that there's nothing sensual at all in the way they do it ) and they're asking her if she's alright. They sound like a boy, but their features are bleary and indistinct, so when she fumbles through her thoughts for a name, she comes up empty.
An uncharacteristic softness underlies their tone of voice ( she doesn't know how she knows it's 'uncharacteristic', either ) though she's got the impression that the rest of their visage is wiped clean of any other emotion.
Someone else catches their attention before she could even mumble out a response. "You guys can go ahead," is all they tell them before they shift their attention back to her. "Shit, what happened to you? Aster—"
"—a-san, Astera-san, wake up."
Who..?
Even nestled in the root of her unease, Astera figures she has no choice but to break free from her mind's treacherous whims. A familiar face awaits her as reality latches onto her again, drowsy from slumber she didn't know she had succumbed to.
"M-Mikasa.. what are you doing here?"
The girl frowns at her. "I could ask you the same thing, Astera-san."
The crescent moon still graces the welkin, high up in its untouchable abode. She probably hasn't been out of it for that long. Her sight's gotten clearer now, if only a tad-bit, though the images in her head remain one clumped-up mess.
"How pitiful of a sight do I make, exactly?" she forces a laugh in spite of herself, but her voice comes out weak, more of a croak than a laugh. Her arm doesn't hurt as much anymore, though she's aware one wrong move could bring a tidal wave of regret.
"You look worse for wear," Mikasa says, not unkindly, and she helps Astera up by her good hand. "Come on, let's get you inside."
Astera flinches. Inside? When the ravenette diverts her gaze to her right, apparently sensing the question Astera hasn't even asked yet, she follows it; in the middle of a narrow street, led up to by a flight of stairs, rests the humble residence she'd apparently ended up collapsing at the foot of.
She rushes to cover up her indecision, but Mikasa must have caught on, because she sends a calm smile her way. "It's my home, don't worry. I'm living with the Jaegers: Eren, Carla-san, and Grisha-san, my adoptive family. We have a couch you can sleep on in the meantime before you return to your own home."
Astera relaxes a little at that, but she responds reluctantly to the ravenette's proposition. "I don't want to intrude.. it's the middle of the night. You shouldn't be inviting strangers into your houses."
Right then, her eyes trace the silhouette of unruly locks of brown hair coming over to a standstill by one of the windows.
It's that boy from before, she perceives. He must be the Eren that Mikasa and Armin have been talking about this whole time. And it would make sense, really. 'You'll pay for bullying my best friend!' was the first thing she ever heard him say. Armin had talked about how Eren and Mikasa used to be the only people who ever turned on his bullies and gladly protected him from them.
A set of teal-coloured gems come to greet Astera warmly, but curiosity wavers into shock and then into agitated concern when he glimpses at what she's certain is such an unseemly change to her previously well-ordered self.
"You're not a stranger, Astera-san. You and your brother helped Armin out the last time we met. That's not something any of us have forgotten," Mikasa says, "And you can't possibly walk any farther in that state of yours."
Astera doesn't budge. "Nico was the one who defended him, in case you've forgotten. I didn't even do much." As tempting as it is to let Mikasa and Eren's family take her in for this one night, she isn't sure how much she'd lose if she does—time she could've used up, a brother she could've rescued. All she knows for sure is that she needs to get to Nico, stat.
Tiny fingers reach out to adjust the red scarf that she only just perceives Mikasa has on regardless of this strange time. "Your words had meant a lot to us. More than you probably realize yourself," she sighs, lifting her hand out for the older girl to take. Beckoning.
The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them. "My brother and I have been kidnapped." Mikasa freezes up, fear breaking through her normally unyielding composure. "Our captors had us separated, so when I managed to escape, I couldn't find him anywhere. I need to go home and tell my father what's going on." She pauses, searching the ravenette's eyes for any sign of understanding. "Now."
Just then, she picks up on the loudening sound of footsteps, right as a woman's voice cuts in alarm: "Kidnapped? Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."
"Carla-san," she hears Mikasa mumble out, dread like she'd never been prepared to see play out on the girl's face before now dangerously present. "This is Astera-san, the one who had been there for Armin with her brother last time. Astera-san, this is Eren's mother, Carla-san."
The woman steps in front of her quietly, worry lining her expression. She's pretty, Astera remarks to herself. Carla's hair has been left to cascade freely, and despite all initial thought that there is no way anybody's eyes could possibly overshadow Eren's in radiance, Carla's own amber pair regards her with a kindness that has Astera suppressing a sob.
The last person who's ever looked at her like that before was—
"We can't let you go home on your own like this, Astera." When she opens her mouth to protest, Carla shushes her soothingly. "I'm sorry, but you're already at your limit. At this rate, it'll only do you more harm than good to start looking for your brother now."
No, they don't understand, she thinks, but Astera is unable to resist when Carla leads her over to their house, her legs refusing to follow her will. The door is held open to reveal a tidy interior by a bespectacled man, who Astera is left to presume is Grisha ( she's heard enough stories about the famed doctor to guess accurately ), and together both parents guide her toward a nearby couch.
Her heart begins to race well against her wishes. She wants to reject their generosity, wants to turn around and excuse herself, wants to find Nico, wants to go home. But all her body seems to want is to not cooperate.
Mikasa and Eren make their approach, the latter securing himself a seat beside Astera. She bites the inside of her cheek, steeling herself for the moment they commence their interrogation.
Imagine her surprise when the two kids opt to give her space instead, keeping silent as the adults busy themselves with retrieving some blankets and pillows. Mikasa joins Carla elsewhere in the house ( Astera's too drained out to track their movements anymore ), while the most Eren does is inch his hand a little closer to hers, as heedful of her reactions as possible. The offer is clear to her: she's free to ask for physical comfort should she ever wish it.
"We have to treat your injuries, first and foremost before anything else," Grisha takes one of the dining chairs and repositions it before the both of them, carrying with him a set of bandages, a clean white cloth, and a pale of water.
Wounds and bruises aside, Astera hasn't even registered how much her body has started to ache, how much her head has started to pound again, and how much her left arm has been no more than dead weight this entire night.
"With all due respect, Grisha-san, I can't stay here for long. Our captors.. they sneaked up on us the last sunset we were outside shopping for food, and then they took us to this building.. somewhere southeast within a forest there. But they kept my little brother and me apart. When I fought back to escape, he was nowhere to be found. The last I've seen of him was.." Astera falters, breathing shallow. "I-I don't even know how long ago it's been. Two days? A few hours? I can't just risk going on standby like this. The sooner we act, the sooner we can save him. Shit, for all we know they're hurting him as we speak—"
"I understand your desperation to get your brother back, but you won't be making any more progress until you get some much-needed rest," Grisha keeps his tone light and steady, formal like he means business, but there is a sympathetic edge to it. "Once I tend to your wounds and make sure there isn't anything else I need to take note of regarding your wellbeing, I'll be the one to go to your house and explain the situation to your father. We'll alert the police of this come morning light."
Astera forces her breathing into a calmer rate. Dizziness jostles her out of nowhere, and she has to fight back the desire to lash out at the man and break down in front of him at the same time.
Isn't there anything else you can accomplish in this world apart from being a burden to others, Astera?
Just as she's about ready to argue once more, relaying her concerns to them about delaying Nico's rescue, she backpedals at his mention of the 'police'.
Immediately, she recalls those standard military jackets she'd found cluttered atop one another on the table back in that accursed building, as if the wearers had no care for them at all.
A green unicorn with a white mane.
"I don't think the military police would be of any help to us in this," Astera confesses without much deliberation, but it doesn't feel like she's the one who blurts the admission out. She feels detached from reality, like she's gone and plunged herself into a third-person viewing of everything that's happening at the moment.
The confusion that impinges upon the air is instant. "What do you mean.." Eren begins, but Astera doesn't hear the rest of it.
It's too much all of a sudden.
The world sways in and out of existence, the discomfort of it damningly familiar. She presses her hands to her ears and coughs out a muffled gasp; pain assaulting her head, igniting through her incapacitated arm, and bringing her brief bout of quietude to an unwanted end.
"Astera-san? Are you okay?" somebody asks, urgent. Frightened.
What's happening to me?
"W-What happened to her?"
"Eren, move over."
Nico. I need to save Nico. I need to tell father about this. But how?
"Dad? What are you going to do?"
Just let me pass out already.
"Astera-san, don't go to sleep yet, please."
So noisy.
Whatever else has been said during the Jaegers' conversation is lost on Astera. She senses rather than sees Eren get up from his position on the couch and somebody else take his place, talking to her, asking her questions, and even then, she couldn't procure the words to respond. Formless blobs swim in her vision. Focus, she tells herself, but she can't. Where is all that strength when I need it?
"It's okay, Astera-san, I've got you," somebody says. She hones in on it, thinking it would be enough to keep herself from acquiescing to unconsciousness, but all hope departs at the comprehension that it isn't.
If I let the darkness take over now, will I find hope there instead?
Something comes to a featherlight rest on Astera's back, and though she realizes belatedly that it's a human's touch, she surprises herself by accepting the warm gesture instead of recoiling at it.
As the inevitable wave of sleep engulfs her whole a second time around, Astera reclines to the feeling of her hope just right within reach.
a/n: idkhowtowritefightscenesimsosorry i hope this didn't end up being too cringy-
but anyways, hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter !! feedback is appreciated, especially for this particular one xD like all the others, this chapter is un-beta'ed, so if you find any inaccuracies/inconsistencies in them, please don't hesitate to let me know.
thank you so much for reading <3
[ published » april 12, 2020 ]