The Shatters of Black Stars

Night was slowly falling over Stohess. The wavering flames of kerosene lamps cast a dim, amber glow onto the narrow streets. In the rougher districts, lighting had always been sparse: the streetlamps were spaced too far apart, each one clawing a tiny patch of the street out of the darkness—only to shamefully surrender it again a few steps later. The small flames and cheap oil were no match for the night. Levi knew this about the lamps. He hated it with every fiber of his being whenever he had to walk the city streets. But right now, he was ready to pray for the cover of darkness—especially with a full squad of Military Police on his tail. He knew working in a team was a terrible idea. Especially for something this complicated. Ackerman always worked alone. Fast. No questions. But no—this mission was “too important” to entrust to him alone. Some bureaucratic genius up top decided he might not be able to handle it. And how did that turn out? A team of greenhorns, cobbled together at the last minute, was quickly discovered and taken out. Two were killed on the spot. Three others bolted the second things got hot. One was caught by the police. Levi wasn’t going to lift a finger to help him. If that idiot knew what was good for him, he’d die under torture before spilling a word. That would be in everyone’s best interest. But if he opened his stupid mouth to save his own skin… the organisation would find him. Dying at the hands of the mafia? A far less pleasant experience. Levi wouldn’t wish it on anyone—especially not after betraying the bosses. Even he, strong as he was, shielded by the name of his uncle, a high-ranking member of the syndicate, didn’t show himself more than necessary. Not out of fear, but because he understood perfectly well: without the organisation, he was nothing. He had no place topside. Sure, some guy once came swinging in on wires, tried to recruit him into the Scouts, but Levi wasn’t dumb enough to go become titan chow outside the walls. Which is why he always thought taking a team on a job like this was utter lunacy. If you need to steal something—do it quiet, do it fast, do it clean. He could’ve handled it solo. Easily. But those morons decided he needed “backup.” Well, congratulations. Hope they were happy with the result. A failed mission, a pile of corpses, and now Levi had to save his own ass. Not that he was too worried about that part—he’d escaped worse. What bothered him was that the police had seen his face and were now herding him toward the city center. A place he knew far less than his own beloved slums. It was harder to disappear among finely dressed gentlemen than among beggars and thieves. His heart was pounding like mad. Blood rushed through his veins, molten hot. His breathing was ragged, temples pulsing. He just needed one second to catch his breath, a single place to hide. His muscles screamed for a break. But Levi decided to take a chance and double back—if he made it to the seedy side of Stohess, he could still find cover. He abruptly changed direction, hoping the MPs wouldn’t notice right away and keep chasing a ghost. That would buy him at least a few more seconds. Slipping into a narrow alley, he tried to vanish between the buildings. The soldiers shot past overhead, completely missing him in the deepening twilight. He was just about to relax—when the last soldier passed by, trailing behind the others. His gaze flashed like firelight, slicing across Levi’s face—but inertia dragged him forward, giving Levi another opening to dart deeper into the slums. “Shit,” Levi muttered, scanning frantically for anywhere to catch his breath. Far off, voices shouted—soldiers. ODM gear hissed and clanged in the distance. Panic surged anew. Levi realised too late that he should’ve run earlier, should’ve already been hiding. That single misstep might cost him everything. The sounds were getting closer. If he didn’t find a way out right now, he was done for. Torture didn’t sound appealing. And he wasn’t ready to die just yet. He couldn’t use his stolen ODM gear either. The second he launched into the air, they’d spot him—and if he was lucky, shoot him down mid-flight. No matter how good he was with the gear, those few seconds hanging in midair, searching for a grapple point, made him a wide-open target for gunfire. His mind spun like clockwork gears, trying to piece together an escape route. Then, as if led by divine providence, his eyes followed the line of lamps to a faint sign at the end of the alley. A bar. Without hesitation, Levi sprinted toward it, hoping to disappear into the crowd of drunkards. Levi paused for a single breath at the door—just enough to steady his heartbeat, to shed the hunted look—and then pushed inside with all the swagger of a man who had no squad of Military Police snapping at his heels. Just another stranger ducking in for a drink on a warm summer night. The bar swallowed him whole, stifling and thick with smoke and the sour tang of cheap booze. Levi wrinkled his nose at the mix of stale sweat and unwashed desperation but walked calmly, deliberately, further in. The place was packed—perfect. No one spared him a second glance. People with ODM gear weren’t uncommon in this part of town, even if his lacked any identifying insignia. He slipped into a seat at an empty table, its surface mottled with old grease and alcohol stains. He didn’t touch it. The stool beneath him wasn’t any more appealing, but it was acceptable. Around him, men hollered over each other, tankards clattered, forks screeched on oily plates. Worn-out waitresses in grimy aprons darted between tables, balancing fresh rounds of food and drink. Cigarette smoke stung his eyes. He could’ve used one himself, but no way in hell was he putting that cheap filth in his mouth. Lighting one of his own was too risky—he couldn’t afford to waste good tobacco if he had to bolt. From this shadowed corner, Levi scoped out the room, casually calculating at least two escape routes. Always be ready. It was only after the adrenaline began to ebb that he noticed—beneath the noise of clinking glasses and shouting voices—music. A voice, more precisely. Smooth. Steady. Surprisingly decent. His gaze flicked toward the low stage just a few steps away, and there she was. A young woman in a striking scarlet dress, singing into the smoke and noise. And somehow, managing to cut through it. She looked far too fine for a place like this—tall, lean, skin porcelain-pale beneath ink-black hair, full red lips moving with the rhythm of her song. Levi stared. Just for a second. Then cursed himself. He hadn’t thought about a woman like that in a long time. A drunken man beside him, missing half his teeth and covered in grease, jabbed Levi in the ribs with an elbow. “Look at her,” he slurred, pointing at the stage with a fat, dirty finger. Levi barely resisted the urge to break the bastard’s arm. Drawing attention to himself right now was suicide. He shifted, avoiding the touch, and scanned the room again. So many leering eyes focused on the stage. Men growled and whistled, hands stretching toward the singer, but none dared rise. Strange. A woman like her wouldn’t last two songs up there without someone trying something. And yet there she was—untouched. There was something about her. Something that said don’t. Levi couldn’t put a finger on it. He just watched her, the way the fabric of her dress shimmered as she moved, the way she held herself. And then— Her eyes met his. Sharp gray, like tempered steel. They locked on him, just for a beat, reading him in a way that made him feel strangely seen. She didn’t stop singing. She’d grown used to crude jokes and hungry stares—but his gaze wasn’t like the others’. It was curious. Measured. She didn’t know him. And yet something about him nagged at the edge of her memory. Still, it wasn’t her job to stare back. Flashing a smile that was far too bright for this dump, she looked away—singing like the bar’s filth and stink didn’t exist. Her voice was velvet—soft, slow, almost warm. Calming, in a way no drink ever could be. Levi figured a girl like that had to be popular. The place was packed—no doubt in part because of her. Filthy animals, he thought, watching the way the crowd devoured her with their eyes. As if you weren’t just staring at her yourself, his mind whispered. But Levi excused himself. At least he tried to hide it. He focused on the music, on the curve of her mouth, on the way she gave herself fully to the song. You didn’t wear a dress like that on a singer’s wage. She was probably working more than one job. Like his mother once had. The thought turned his stomach. But resisting her allure was getting harder. She probably has a deal with the bar, he thought. They leave her alone while she’s onstage. After that, she walks straight into their arms. Still, that wasn’t his problem. If the police had lost his trail, he could breathe here a while longer. Maybe half an hour. Long enough to be sure. He watched her again. The way she moved. Her voice. The way she threw her soul into that sappy love song—so much so that it almost made it beautiful. And then the door slammed open, crashing against the wooden wall. A squad burst in—Garrison troops mixed with Military Police. The music died instantly. The girl’s voice carried one last trembling note before it fell into silence. Bar chatter ceased. Levi didn’t need to see their insignia to know who they were. But he saw the roses on their shoulders anyway. They brought the Garrison too? Great. He tensed. He’d boxed himself in. No way out now. “Ackerman!” one of the police shouted, raising his weapon. “Give it up now and rot in a cell—we won’t turn you into colander. Maybe.” Levi didn’t wait. One second was all he needed. His revolver flashed in the flickering light, smooth and ready, drawn from the holster like it had a mind of its own. “I’m not making any promises.” The gunshot cracked through the silence. Blood arced from the soldier’s temple. He dropped, almost gracefully, as if surprised he’d been shot at all. Then his body thudded to the floor, face-first. Panic exploded. A waitress screamed. The crowd surged. Chairs scraped, men shouted, someone tried climbing through a window. The exit jammed with bodies. In the chaos, Levi made his move. A boot stomped his foot, hard, but it gave him just enough cover. He ducked—and a bullet whizzed past, close enough to sear the air over his head. Heat kissed his scalp. “Son of a—” Levi growled, firing again. Two more soldiers dropped. The rest were more slippery—more experienced. He’d have to work for this. But if he could just make it out of the bar— Killing cops wasn’t his idea of fun, but his life was worth more than their orders. As bullets screamed through the air, Levi zigzagged deeper into the bar. Wood splintered, sawdust flew, plaster rained down. Patrons crawled on all fours, scrambling to live. And then he saw her. The girl on stage. Still there. Frozen in place. Trapped. A step to the left—musical instruments. A step to the right—a hail of bullets. She looked terrified. Huge, dark eyes wide as a deer’s. But she wasn’t panicking like the others. That caught his attention. She held herself together. And Levi, distracted for half a second, nearly took a bullet to the face. He dodged just in time. Blood pounded in his ears. Help her? Why? She was nobody. If she died, that was just bad luck. But something told him she wouldn’t make it on her own. The crowd, screaming and scrambling, had become an unexpected shield. Soldiers fired blindly, barely able to see him through the forest of panicked bodies. A fresh burst of bullets forced Levi back toward the stage. They were trying to corner him. Force him into the open. Fine. If they didn’t want to shoot civilians, Levi had an idea. With one clean leap, he vaulted onto the creaking wooden platform. The girl flinched but didn’t scream. He grabbed her by the waist and yanked her back against him. She let out a startled squeak, tensed—then went still. Her perfume hit him like a drug. Sweet, warm, expensive. Her hands lifted in discomfort, like she didn’t want to touch him, but she didn’t try to run. Good girl. He could feel her heart hammering beneath her ribs. Her breath was fast—scared, but steady. Levi didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed fixed on the police, all with weapons aimed in his direction. None of them fired. Of course. They wouldn’t shoot her. “Fire!” the commander barked suddenly, voice booming over the noise. What?! Levi didn’t hesitate. “Shit,” he hissed, scooping the girl into his arms just as a shot rang out. The bullet grazed her cheek—just a thin red line—but it could have been her skull. Levi dove from the stage, landing hard and knocking over a nearby table. The rotten wood cracked as it crashed over them. Bullets thudded into it seconds later. Splinters rained down, slicing his skin, but none of it mattered now. “You’re really using a lady as a shield?” the girl spat, wriggling in his grip—but she didn’t crawl away. Smart. She knew stepping out meant getting a bullet in the back. As long as Levi had control, she was safest near him. “I didn’t think those bastards would shoot a woman,” he muttered, peeking over the wreckage. He fired a couple of shots, then ducked again, jamming new rounds into the chamber. The cops were fanning out, creeping through the emptied bar. He had to get out before they boxed him in. The girl beside him hadn’t freaked out. Not once. Oddly impressive. Most people panicked under gunfire. Not her. “We need to get out of here,” she said calmly, still crouched low. She shuffled closer, out of the spray range of the table’s jagged edge. “Great idea,” Levi replied dryly. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Another bullet sang past, and both of them flinched. No more jokes. Levi focused. She met his gaze, her silvery eyes glinting with steel, and did something that made his eyebrows lift—she hiked up her long skirt with no shame. From the elegant line of her thigh, a polished revolver emerged, strapped neatly to a garter. Levi blinked. “Well, damn.” She drew the weapon, flicked something—probably the safety—and gave him a look that said don’t test me. So maybe she wasn’t just some singer. “There’s a way out through the basement,” she said briskly, jerking her chin toward a dark opening behind the bar. “Just need to make it that far.” A few steps. That’s all. But the moment the soldiers reloaded, this pathetic table wouldn’t stop a toothpick. Levi thought fast. “Hold onto me. Tight. Don’t squirm.” She obeyed without question, awkwardly wrapping her arms around his neck. Her body pressed against his. Soft. Warm. Real. His heart stuttered, but he shoved the feeling down. Later. He held her close, muscles burning, breath tight. One shot at this. He kicked a nearby chair as hard as he could. It skittered across the floor with a sharp clatter, drawing the soldiers’ aim. They fired without thinking. Then Levi snatched a kerosene lamp from a nearby shelf and hurled it at the floor. Flames erupted. The alcohol-soaked boards ignited instantly, fire licking outward with hungry tongues. Smoke followed fast. Levi didn’t wait. He bolted for the dark doorway, the girl clinging to him. A hiss of ODM cables launched him forward—they sliced into the gloom like lightning, pulling them both into the black, behind the fireline. By the time the soldiers figured out what happened, he’d be long gone. “Put me down,” the girl said sharply once darkness swallowed them. Levi blinked—when had she started giving orders? But he let go. Nothing. Total black. The fire’s flash had wrecked his vision. Then he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist. “Well? Move,” she whispered, voice melodic even in the dark. Levi followed. She moved like a ghost—graceful, confident, avoiding every box and barrel he tripped over. He had to bite his tongue not to curse aloud. Her heels clicked faintly on the stone, a sound nearly drowned by the shouts behind them. Even with ODM gear, the soldiers would have a hell of a time figuring out where this tunnel led. So did Levi. But at this point, he was betting on her. Even if she was leading him straight into a trap, well—he’d deal with that when it came. She’d had every chance to shoot him and hadn’t. That counted for something. “Stairs. Careful,” she breathed, slipping downward and letting go of his hand. Levi dropped after her, boots thudding on the wooden steps. She was already at the cellar doors, prying them open. Night air poured in. He climbed out first. He was ready to run—but something made him stop. If he left her here, they’d catch her. She had saved his life. Levi reached down, offered his hand. She took it. Back in the open night, Levi’s eyes finally adjusted. He could see again—the jagged stone wall behind them, the faint scuffle of soldiers somewhere in the distance. No time to waste. He grabbed her wrist—just as she’d done to him—and pulled her into a run. She followed. “Wait,” she whispered, slowing suddenly. Levi stopped, tense and impatient. He couldn’t see what she was doing—she bent down, fussing with something in the dark. What now? he thought irritably, panic rising again. Fixing her damn stockings? Then she straightened, holding her heels. “Took off the shoes,” she said, matter-of-fact, dangling the strappy instruments of torture in front of his face. “Can’t run far in these.” Levi gave a short nod and kept running, dragging her with him. Behind them, the bar crackled and groaned as flames climbed the wooden walls. They didn’t stop for two blocks. Only then did Levi bend over, bracing his hands on his knees, lungs threatening to explode. His muscles screamed in protest. His legs twitched uncontrollably. Tomorrow, they’d fall off entirely. But for now—silence. They’d made it. No footsteps. No ODM hissing. No shouting. Just wind and the distant burn of fire. The girl—still barefoot—stood beside him, breathing just as hard, hunched the same way. He hadn’t expected her to keep up. He’d meant to ditch her at the first turn, assuming she’d fall behind. But she hadn’t. She’d run with him, step for step, on bloodied feet. Who the hell is she? He didn’t ask. He didn’t have the energy. He just knew they couldn’t linger. He’d used up every ounce of luck tonight. And staying exposed, even in the dark, was dangerous. “Grab on,” he said, voice rough, falling back into command mode. She blinked at him, like he’d lost his mind. “Or stay here. Up to you,” he muttered, already turning to leave. But after a second’s hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him again, wordless. Her heels smacked lightly against his back. He had no doubt she’d done that on purpose. This night was really shaping up to be something special. With a sharp hiss, Levi fired off a pair of cables, and together they flew up into the air, slicing through the night sky. He felt her breath against his neck, warm and ragged. Her fingers curled in his jacket, clinging tight. Her body molded to his, soft where he was bruised and burning. Goosebumps chased down his back—not just from the chill, but from her.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

Levi set her down carefully near the edge of the residential district. She hissed under her breath as her feet touched the ground. He saw her limp, saw the dried blood on her toes, the bruises blooming. He leaned back against the cool stone wall of a half-abandoned building. The chill soothed the burn in his skin. Far off, a lonely streetlamp glowed. Just enough light to make out the girl in front of him. She looked... different now. Disheveled, sure. A little blood on her cheek. A ripped hem. But still stunning. Up close, Levi could finally see: she wasn’t just slim, she was fit. Toned. Her curves were real. Her arms and legs held power beneath the silk. She caught him staring and folded her arms across her chest, as if to shield herself. Then, turning slightly, she said: “So you’re the famous Ackerman.” Her voice—low, soft, laced with irony—wrapped around him like a silk sheet. Levi raised an eyebrow. “Heard of me?” “Who hasn’t?” she muttered, shifting from foot to foot, clearly in pain. Levi watched her with interest. Maybe she’d prefer his place over limping home alone. A warm bed beat a cold street. He didn’t even know her name. “What should I call you?” She paused. “Mikasa,” she said at last, leaning back against the wall beside him. Close. Too close. He could smell her again—perfume and skin and sweat, blending into something real. “Mikasa?” he repeated, fishing for more. “That’s enough.” “I don’t think so.” He smirked. But her glare cut him off. “I’m not in the mood for sharing. My last name carries… baggage.” Her voice dropped with the weight of something unspoken. Levi let it go. For now. But gods, she was interesting. “Cigarette?” he offered, pulling a pack from his jacket. “Don’t mind if I do.” She accepted one between delicate fingers. “Isn’t that bad for a singer? Ruins the voice.” He was trying to get her talking. To pull her in. But she stayed cold and distant, like she’d already left. Levi lit his own, took a drag. Bitter heat filled his lungs, dulled the tremors still thrumming through him. The familiar rush loosened his chest. He exhaled slowly, white smoke curling into the night. “I get it,” he said finally. “My day’s been shit too.” He passed her the lighter. “Mine is shit because of you.” Mikasa didn't look at the lighter—she swiftly took her sparking revolver out, spun it in her hand and clicked. From the barrel, a small flame danced out. Levi stiffened. “Relax,” she said flatly. “It’s a lighter.” Levi exhaled again, this time with a hint of a nervous chuckle. Goddamn. His head was still scrambled. He couldn’t tell a gimmick from a real gun. Mikasa lit her cigarette and leaned back against the wall, letting her head tilt upward. Her hair clung to her cheeks in sweat-damp strands. The pale skin of her neck shimmered faintly in the light. Veins traced blue beneath her porcelain surface. Levi watched her—watched the soft curve of her throat, the way her lips shaped around the filter. She looked... Dangerous. And beautiful. And tired. He had a few coins left. Enough for a room. A bath. Something more, if she was willing. But hell, what had she picked up from the crowd in that bar? He didn’t even know if— “Where’d you get that lighter?” he asked, gesturing at the weapon-shaped trinket. “My brother. Said it’d keep guys like you in check.” Levi narrowed his eyes. Brother. Protective, maybe. Smart guy—buying her something flashy like that. “Didn’t scare off any of your... clients?” “Clients?” she repeated, blinking. “You know. The ones who pay for your ‘singing.’” Mikasa froze. Then her face darkened. She straightened up, dragging on the cigarette hard, the ember flaring. Her lips curled in disgust. Levi saw the offence in her eyes before she spoke. “I don’t sleep with men for money.” The words hit like a slap. She said it with the kind of sharp, wounded pride Levi had heard before. Many times. Too many. “Great,” he muttered. “I don’t have any.” “Not funny.” “I wasn’t joking.” “Maybe I just do this for the joy of it,” she snapped. “Maybe I get by just fine.” Levi shrugged. “Sure.” He wasn’t going to argue. He’d begged enough. Mikasa stared him down for a long moment, then turned away. “I only helped you because I hate the police,” she said finally. “And men like you. There’s not much difference. I thought maybe you were... something else. But I was wrong.” She pressed the half-burned cigarette to the wall, grinding it out until it died. Then she flicked the butt into the trash and stepped away from him. She bent, scooping up her heels by the straps, and started walking. “Let me walk you,” Levi said quietly, taking one last drag before flicking his cigarette into the same pile of trash. It hissed as it landed, still faintly glowing. She didn’t stop walking. “Don’t bother,” Mikasa replied without turning around. Levi watched her retreat, her bare feet slapping softly against the stone. Even now, proud and furious, she walked like a woman with somewhere to go—shoulders straight, head high. He couldn’t help it—it stung a little, watching her limp away into the dark alone. She could’ve left him back in that bar. Could’ve let him take the bullets. Instead, she’d stayed. Risked. And now he’d called her a whore. He knew what that meant to girls like her. He’d grown up in it. He’d seen his mother take that look more times than he cared to remember. He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded—but he had sounded like every other bastard who ever tried to buy something soft for a night. Still leaning against the wall, he hesitated. Muscles burning, lungs tight, mind torn between weariness and guilt. Then he fired his grapples and disappeared into the rooftops, trailing her shadow until she was gone from view. Not because he needed anything from her now. But because something about Mikasa, in that moment—in those stolen, burning seconds of smoke and blood—had stuck. Like the aftertaste of gunpowder. Like the perfume of a woman he wouldn’t forget.