The Shatters of Black Stars

      Eren unpacked his meagre belongings at an unhurried pace: stuffed some underwear into the bottom drawer, hung a couple of plain shirts in the closet—one to wear now, the other for later. He didn’t need more than that.       It was hot in uniform, so he carelessly tossed his cloak over the back of the chair.       He glanced around. The room seemed deserted. Beds were lined up tightly against the walls. Armin still hadn’t returned from training. Eren sat down on the low, hard bed, rummaging through his trouser pockets.       Empty.       Of course—he’d sworn to quit smoking. But his hands still reached for the habit, searching for the missing pack. He should’ve bought some while he was in town. Too late now.       A frustrated sigh escaped him. This short leave was supposed to give him strength to keep going, yet it had been anything but restful. He’d just wasted time running around.       Outside, the wind carried the distant sounds of drills into the room. Eren once thought this place was where he belonged, a true home—but over the years, that certainty had faded.       Life in the Survey Corps had turned out far less thrilling than he had imagined.       He had dreamed of freedom—of endless fields, of greenery stretching as far as the eye could see, of the vast blue dome of the sky. But reality was different.       They rarely even left the walls.       Expeditions were expensive, meticulously planned. Every lost soldier set them back another step in their fight against monsters. Funding kept getting cut. Civilians were always outraged about wasted taxes. A never-ending cycle of grief and despair hung over the regiment. Eren was exhausted, clinging only to his stubborn belief in inevitable victory. As long as he remained part of the Corps, success was inexorable.       Never before had humanity possessed such power. And once they secured the serum, fear itself would end. The walls would fall. No one would be forced to rot in this stone cage anymore.       At least, Eren still fanatically believed that.       Mikasa, though—she chipped away at that belief, undermined his confidence. And Eren hated it. Partly because she was right.       There was a lot Eren never told Mikasa. For instance, how long it had been since he’d last been beyond the walls. Or that his scars weren’t from monster attacks, but from Major Hange’s experiments. The less she knew, the better she slept—that’s what he told himself.       Mikasa feared titans—terrifying beasts, obvious enemies. He couldn’t tell her that he willingly endured agony at the hands of people like himself, letting them torment him just to uncover their secrets. She wouldn’t understand.       Eren’s soul was restless. For himself, he’d already decided: he would stay with the Corps as long as his body could keep moving forward, as long as he could lead people toward a better future. Every failure only fuelled his hatred for this world, only stoked the fire of his desire to escape the cage sooner.       Eren would fight for humanity, even if Mikasa didn’t understand. Even if all of this—was for her.       He rose to his feet, pacing the room, lost in thought. Mikasa was changing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now—now that images of their leave flickered in his mind—it was obvious something was different. And he didn’t like it.       He was used to coming home to her always waiting, always looking at him with tenderness and devotion. Her first absence had been nothing but coincidence, a matter of bad timing. But truthfully, Eren had been terrified when Mikasa failed to come home—and later, when he saw the bar burned to the ground.       He’d never admit the relief he felt when she finally came back, battered but alive. Just as he’d never admit how deeply he understood her moods, her whims—better than anyone else.       He wished he could stay by her side. Quit the army altogether, stop grinding himself down with training, stop letting himself be torn apart. But he couldn’t. He was in too deep, too much depended on him.       If he were just another soldier, maybe it would be easier. But he was Humanity’s Hope, and that meant sacrificing himself—and, in a way, sacrificing Mikasa too.       He knew what she felt for him. He saw it in her eyes. Anyone else would have given up on him long ago. But not Mikasa. She clung to him and had no intention of letting go—ever, it seemed. Foolish girl.       He wished he could return her feelings with the same warmth—just once. But long ago, he’d decided he never would. And Mikasa needed to accept that, had needed to for a long time now.       Eren would be lying if he said he didn’t care about her. But he refused to admit his feelings, even to himself. They simply weren’t meant to be, and in his position, agonising over it was pointless. Mikasa wouldn’t be happy with him, and he wouldn’t be happy with her. Eren had given himself to humanity’s cause, and their small, personal lives weighed nothing when an entire people hung in the balance.       Yet keeping his distance was getting harder and harder. He almost wished he never came home at all.       They’d parted on bad terms again. Eren knew she would forgive him, would still be glad when he came back next time—but the faint sting of guilt would linger, reminding him of yet another pointless fight.       They were growing older, more mature. Mikasa was no longer the blushing girl who let him get away with everything.       She had tried to kiss him.       Eren sank heavily onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. Heat flooded his cheeks. This was going too far. What would he do if she finally gathered the courage to say the words that would shatter their fragile peace?       He hadn’t let himself think that far ahead. He wanted to talk to Armin, but he already knew what Armin would say. He knew the right answer himself—the simple answer to all of his questions.       He should give up the ambition, the Corps, and just return to the city—start a family, live a quiet, happy life. That was what Eren always read in Armin’s eyes whenever he complained about Mikasa.       It had long been obvious to both of them that they’d outgrown their childhood friendship.       Mikasa had become a beautiful woman—poised, confident, desired. Eren wasn’t a boy anymore either. He saw it, felt it, how much harder it was with each passing day to ignore her beauty, her voice, her gentleness. It was getting harder to tell himself no.       But if he gave in—if he let himself slip—what then?       As long as they were just childhood friends, leaving for the front lines was easy. They were strangers to each other in all the ways that mattered. He owed her nothing. But one kiss, one moment of closeness—and that illusion would shatter.       No. Better to leave things as they were.       Eren couldn’t keep thinking about a woman waiting for him back home. It would only cloud his judgment, feed false hopes. Deep down, he knew his power would fail him someday—that Mikasa’s terrifying words would one day come true. One day he wouldn’t come back, and that day could be any moment now, no matter how hard he tried to believe otherwise. He knew he wasn’t immortal—but he kept lying, to himself and to her, convincing them both that everything was under control.       Eren’s life was hurtling into the abyss. He was only a passenger, riding in a runaway cart pulled by a wild horse that had long since thrown its driver. And better not to give Mikasa false hope, even if watching her suffer was unbearable.       But the way she had leaned toward him… it smelled of desperation. What was she thinking? Why couldn’t she just be there for him, the way she always had? Why couldn’t she be content with what they already had?       Eren smirked at the memory. She’d always been like that—that uncanny mix of feline softness and maddening, unstoppable stubbornness.       He remembered the scandal when he left for the Cadet Corps. It had been years ago, but Eren recalled every detail.       The entire barracks had been in an uproar. He’d endured so much that night that by morning it was humiliating to pack his things in front of everyone. Older men chuckled, watching him hastily shove a tin mug and a few clothes into a sack.       "Armin, you’re not as stupid as he is! Tell him!"       Mikasa, eyes red from crying, stood beside them, pleading, begging Eren to stay. It was useless. He wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want to. That day, everything about her infuriated him—her tears, her pleas.              "You know you can’t talk him out of it if he’s made up his mind…"       "Try at least!"       "To be honest, I agree with him. And I’m going too. But you don’t belong there."       Eren remembered the way her expression changed—how anger melted into hollow devastation, an unbearable sense of betrayal. And how Armin, timid and frail at first glance, suddenly straightened up, stood taller, and proudly stepped up beside him.       Armin had always understood him, always followed him into madness. Sneaking into an orchard to steal apples? Armin would stand watch, make sure they didn’t get caught. He’d run from an angry bull with Eren. Wade into a freezing mountain stream. Suffer through sore throats and scolding adults. And now he was joining the Corps too—weak as he was.       "Shut up already and let us sleep!" someone yelled from a bed.       "They’re men, let them go—better than loafing around here!"       The barracks rustled with whispers. Men murmured their approval; women grumbled—whether at being woken up or at the boys’ recklessness, no one could say.       Mikasa suddenly fell silent. Her crimson scarf, stark in the pre‑dawn gloom, trembled. Her tear‑filled eyes flashed with defiance.       "I’m going with you."       Her voice, quiet, unexpectedly uncertain, barely rose above the low rumble of discontent around them.       "No." Eren’s tone was harder than ever. He needed to break free, to breathe real freedom. True, intoxicating freedom. He didn’t just want to do whatever he pleased—he wanted out of these crushing walls. He wanted to stare fear in the eye, prove to himself he wasn’t a child anymore, prove he could—       "I don’t need your permission. You’ll get yourself killed without me!" Mikasa flared up.       "I’m not a kid anymore!"       Eren remembered the way his chest burned, how his cheeks flushed with shame, how desperately he wanted to bolt, to flee from all those stares… and from Mikasa herself. But she held her ground, arguing and arguing… and only now did Eren realise how right she’d been. Without her, it was unbearable. Impossible. But even now, he couldn’t stand to be near her.       "You…" Mikasa’s lips trembled harder. If she’d cried then, if she’d thrown herself at him, maybe his still‑boyish heart would’ve faltered, and he would have stayed behind, stayed on the fields. Maybe they would have grown up together, become a real family, not just a trio of strays. But Mikasa didn’t cry.       She straightened, drew herself up taller, as if suddenly grown.       "You’re a complete idiot. And if you want to run off to your army—go. But they’ll toss you out quick enough. You won’t last without me."       Her words cut so deep into his pride that Eren swore, then and there, to prove to her—and to himself—that he could survive just fine on his own. And he was still paying for that foolish boyhood vow.       They fought more—all that morning. Eren said things he couldn’t take back. At last, Mikasa snapped.       "Fine! I’ll leave too. I won’t stay here digging in the dirt while you two throw your lives away."       "And where will you go?"       "Anywhere! I’ll sing, I’ll perform! You’ll see—I can manage without you!"       Eren would never forget her like that—her eyes blazing with anger, her long dark hair wild and glinting in the pale morning light. The way she turned sharply, marching back to her bunk. She might have lost that battle, but somehow they were the ones who looked defeated, shuffling shamefully out of the barracks as if already sensing that joining the army would be a mistake.       Mikasa had kept her word. And they had kept theirs. The Cadet Corps had taken them in without question, and later—the Scouts.       Armin, though weaker, was sharp. Smart in class, quick to find loopholes during training, and never lagging behind the strongest. He’d made it into the top ten along with Eren. Now he was in the commanders’ good graces and bound to rise even higher.       Eren… Eren knew himself too well. His temper, his hypersensitive sense of justice, his inability to shut his mouth at the right moment. But the Titan’s power always bailed him out—on the battlefield and in the commander’s office alike. Everything was forgiven, so long as he let them keep experimenting on him.       After the fight with Mikasa, they made up quickly. In her very first letter, she wrote that she really had gone into singing, and Eren was—surprisingly—glad for her.       Mikasa’s voice was warm and clear, ringing like the edge of a blade. He had always liked it when she hummed quietly beside him, pulling potatoes from the soil or weeding the garden. But he never imagined she’d actually pursue it.       In the beginning, life was just as hard for her as it had been for them. None of them had chosen the fields. They’d been brought there as refugees, forced to dig in the dirt. There was nothing else to do, no other way to feed the suddenly swollen population inside Wall Rose. Out there in the fields, at least the rations were decent. In the city, they would have been left to beg.       The army was a different matter entirely—and they didn’t take just anyone. Slackers and layabouts were expelled from the Cadet Corps on the spot. No one wanted extra mouths to feed. So Mikasa couldn’t live on singing alone. She still had to return to the fields to earn her meals. Days bent over rows of crops—nights performing for spare change. That was her life, until Eren finally joined the Scouts.       When he and Armin started getting paid decently, they were able to rent a little apartment in town. Mikasa could finally leave the fields behind and throw herself into singing. Things began to turn around for her.       The dingy taverns slowly gave way to restaurants, and then to real concert halls.       Eren and Armin came home on weekends, just to see her, and the distance only made the attachment grow stronger.       Over time, Eren stopped seeing Mikasa as a bossy hen. She was maturing, becoming even more striking. And he was growing up too. If once he barely noticed his childhood friend, now being near her made it hard to breathe.       If not for his military composure, Mikasa would have seen through him long ago—seen how unsteady she made him.       Why didn’t he just leave the Scouts? Why not give in to her pull?       Because he couldn’t. The Corps would never let him go. He was too valuable.       All Eren could do was hope—hope that when the Scouts secured the serum, when they could create more people like him, with regenerative powers, when Titan strength belonged to the army—then maybe he could walk away. Then his conscience would be quiet. Until then, it was safer to keep Mikasa at a distance.       Eren was still a soldier. He would soon march to Shiganshina, uncover the secrets of his father. He might die there. Better for Mikasa to untangle herself from him before that day came.       But one thought wouldn’t leave him alone. He had left with a heavy heart… and those bouquets from other men.       The door creaked open, long and low, breaking Eren’s train of thought.       "Oh, you’re back already. Perfect. We’ve got an important meeting—they want you there too. You came just in time."       Armin bustled into the room, rummaged through a drawer, grabbed a couple sheets of paper, and headed back out.       A moment later his blond head popped back through the doorway.       "Well? Are you coming?"       "Yeah."       Eren smiled. In moments like these, Armin always reminded him of some mad genius.

***

      The office was stifling. Calling it a "conference room" was generous—it was more like a cramped broom closet with a single window, and even that failed to offer so much as a whisper of a breeze. Or maybe there was one. Hard to tell, with Commander Erwin’s broad shoulders blocking it entirely.       It was unpleasant to look in his direction. The sun streamed straight through the glass, likely slow‑roasting his back, while his face remained in shadow—impossible to read, impossible to guess what he was thinking.       "The main question today," he said evenly, "is how we’re going to secure the serum—and fast."       Eren had heard this speech before. Erwin still clung to the hope that Eren’s Titan instincts might spark some divine insight, some sudden pull toward where the serum might be hidden. But no such revelation ever came. His senses stayed silent; his gut didn’t twist in any helpful direction.       The only thing twisting was the heat—beads of sweat gathering at Eren’s temples in that suffocating little room.       "Why the rush?" he muttered, leaning back in his chair. He said it just to break the silence, arms folded tight across his chest in deliberate defiance, posture screaming that he didn’t care about the answer.       A couple of years ago, he’d never have dared talk to the brass like that. But now? Now it hardly mattered. None of it mattered. The Scouts would collapse eventually, one way or another—unless a miracle happened. Or unless they got another Titan.       "Orders from above," Erwin replied coolly. "Funding isn’t infinite. We can’t delay the Shiganshina expedition any longer."       The mention of Shiganshina made Eren flinch. No one had brought up that operation in a long time. The key hanging at his neck suddenly felt like a brand of molten iron, searing against his skin. He resisted the urge to claw at it.       Erwin’s gaze flicked toward him.       "Our plan for the serum is at a standstill. The Military Police have sunk their claws into it, and negotiations are deadlocked. Eren’s return is well‑timed—I want to discuss our contingency plan." A murmur rippled around the table. Eren straightened unconsciously, edging closer. At last—something that might actually matter.       "We’re facing the same problem we always have—lack of manpower," Erwin continued. "Even seasoned soldiers request transfers after their first encounter with Titans. New recruits are few and far between. Eren’s Titan is still not fully under control, which is why I’ve been thinking about an old… acquaintance."       He rose, turning toward the window again, speaking almost to himself now, voice muffled by the sunlit glass.       "It was years ago. We tried to recruit someone—to bring him into the Scouts. But that bastard slipped through our fingers. After that, we had bigger concerns."       "Erwin, it’s obvious we need more people," Hange cut in, standing from her seat. "But shouldn’t we focus on training new cadets? And if we can secure the serum, we could avoid unnecessary losses altogether. Now’s not the time to chase ghosts."       Eren nodded in agreement, already losing interest. For a brief moment, he’d thought progress might be on the horizon—but this meeting was devolving into another useless round of posturing. Might as well bring out the fine china and pour tea; it’d be indistinguishable from a noble salon.       Hange, of course, was itching to get her hands on the serum—eager to experiment on some other poor soul, like they’d done to him.       "I know it sounds insane," Erwin said evenly, "but this one man could replace ten soldiers. Maybe more."       "Doesn’t sound likely," Eren drawled. Even the best of the best were still just human, and whole squads struggled against a single Titan. And Shiganshina? Everyone knew what awaited there—only a fool would volunteer for that suicide mission.       "He’ll be worth it," Erwin said. "That’s not up for debate."       "Stop circling around it," Hange pressed. "You’re talking about recruiting Levi Ackerman again, aren’t you?"       Eren frowned. He’d heard the name—who hadn’t? Rumours, mostly. None of them flattering. He had no desire to fight alongside a mafioso. What reason would someone like that have to risk his life on the frontlines, when crime paid so much better? If things went bad, he’d vanish without a trace.       "You only know his skills from the reports," Erwin replied calmly. "I’ve seen him with my own eyes. And I want him with us. I’d wager his abilities have only sharpened with time. I’ll say it again—this isn’t up for debate."       Erwin turned from the window, sweeping his gaze across the room. For the briefest instant, a flicker of unmasked excitement lit his eyes. Eren recognised it instantly. It was the same look Erwin had worn when Eren first mentioned the secrets hidden in his father’s basement. That same fanatical gleam. When Erwin wanted something, he got it—one way or another.       "But if you couldn’t recruit him back then," Armin finally piped up—his first words since the start of this futile meeting—"what makes you think you can now?"       A slow, hungry smile spread across Erwin’s lips.       "Good question," he said softly. "For that, we’ll need to work with the Military Police again—whether we like it or not. But it seems…" His gaze sharpened, cutting through the dim air like a blade.       "…it seems Ackerman has finally found himself a weakness."