The Shatters of Black Stars

Stohess was a city of contrasts. Nestled against the central wall of Sina, rich and prosperous on the surface, it hid districts so dangerous that even the Military Police hesitated to step foot in them. Near the Wall lay the most expensive quarters—massive stone mansions, cobbled streets, carriages, gentlemen and ladies in extravagant dress. All of it stood in stark contrast to the crumbling hovels in the east, where, as the sensationalist headlines claimed, “depravity, crime, and poverty reigned.” Rumors had it that a subterranean city was once being built beneath Stohess for the elite—but the entrances were eventually buried and the costly project abandoned. Levi had always found that laughable. That so-called “imaginary” city was exactly where he’d been born. And he could swear on his life: the slums of Stohess, with their beggars and drug dealers, were child’s play compared to the horrors underground—where only the strongest survived, where even as a child you had to fight tooth and nail for your life. He reached a rarely known escape route and slipped inside. The entrance looked like nothing more than a crack in the wall—no one would suspect a local could squeeze through it, and Levi took full advantage of that assumption, disappearing completely unnoticed. He kept this route secret, even from his own people. If it ever came down to it, this would be his last chance to make it out alive, and the last thing he wanted was for his “buddies” to crowd in and get it sealed off. Levi slid along the damp, moldy-smelling ground, feeling the solid rock under the soles of his boots. Moisture and must—the eternal companions of anyone who called the Underground home. It was a little outpost of hell beneath the earth. Levi had long since adapted to life in that godforsaken place—forgotten by the world above, ignored by both government and society, left to rot like rats in their reeking burrows. Many had stopped trying altogether. They just faded out of life, decaying slowly in a city from which there was no escape, dying under the weight of stone and silence. The Military Police kept tight control over every entrance and exit, and no one could leave without paying a fee no resident could ever afford—one that rose with every passing year. Levi had hated that idiotic rule from the time he was a kid. It didn’t take a genius to see that the people on the surface were healthier—stronger—than those who’d never breathed anything but the mildewed, damp air underground. He didn’t fully understand why that was. But he didn’t have to. He’d watched too many weak ones die from strange illnesses. The ones who’d never once seen the sun. He had just gotten lucky. When Kenny took him in, he made sure Levi got to the surface now and then. For free, of course. Kenny knew all the hidden ways in and out. He knew, who to bribe. And without those brief escapes, Levi knew he wouldn’t have grown up nearly as strong. He would’ve died the same way his mother did. The one thing Kenny never told him was how his sister—the infamous slasher’s own flesh and blood—ended up in a brothel. Levi was over thirty now, and that mystery still followed him like a shadow. He had to force himself not to dwell on his mother. The memories of her clients, of her death, haunted him. Every time he returned to this place—home—just the smell of mold brought back the image: her skeletal frame motionless in bed, unmoving for days. Levi shook his head and kept walking. No use thinking about the past. But the thoughts clung to him, unshakable, dragging him back to childhood. What if she’d lived? What kind of person would he be now? Would he have taken a different path? He’d learned the hard way: dreams only lead to disappointment. Life never handed out pleasant surprises. Well—maybe except tonight. The singer. That enchanting little songbird still lingered in his mind, cutting through the familiar gloom like perfume in smoke. Levi trudged through the streets, staring at places he knew all too well. As much as he wanted to go home, he needed to find Kenny first. The old man probably thought he was dead already. The road to the headquarters wound through dense slums of crumbling stone. Levi had lived in one of these buildings for years. Walking past them still hurt. It was like having your soul turned inside out. So many years gone… and yet. The memories of Farlan and Isabel slammed into him like iron bars. They reminded him that his world had no place for hope. Any plan—any fragile little dream—would be torn to pieces by the filth and teeth of the Underground. Once, long ago, Levi had dreamed of escaping. His friends had dreamed it too. They used to believe there really was a place for them up there—where the sky glittered like a huge sapphire, where sunlight warmed your skin, where the air smelled of grass and life and everything Levi had never had. They had been just kids—naïve, full of hope, convinced they could escape. If Levi had known what their overconfidence would cost them, he’d have forbidden them from even dreaming of the surface. Back then they had no money to pay with. They new no ways out. But they had their ODM gear and a strong will to succeed. Farlan was shot the moment he showed his face at the exit. Isabel tried to fight her way out, tried to drag him back, to save him—but she only got herself caught. Levi hadn’t even had time to react. It was one thing to pickpocket some sleaze with a knife, and a very different matter to break out of the Underground through armed thugs thirsty for blood and coin. There was no sympathy for rule-breakers here. Everyone who lived down here was scum, criminals. One more, one less—it didn’t matter. They’d been dragged off to cages, the captors hoping to squeeze out some ransom, or at least sate their craving for cruelty. They tossed Isabel into the cell next to Levi’s much later. He didn’t need to ask what had happened to her. She wouldn’t have told him anyway. But her battered body, the dead look in her eyes, the way she flinched at every noise—those things spoke louder than words. Levi remembered the pain in her face with brutal clarity. The way she cowered in the corner, too broken to even speak to him. He couldn’t help her. Days passed. She never came back to herself. She became a shadow of who she had once been—bright, laughing Isabel, now gone. He could still see it all: the bloated body, tongue hanging loose, face turned purple, a thin, dried line of blood under her nose. He had watched Isabel suffocate slowly—and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it. The guards didn’t care. Just one less gutter rat. That was the day Levi truly began to hate this city. He hated the people in it—those bastards who had torn Isabel down so far that she’d tied a noose herself, ripped her own shirt into strips, and just… sat there. Sat there while her face turned scarlet and her life drained away. There wasn’t even a high enough ceiling. She tied her makeshift noose to the iron bars and just leaned forward. As if giving up her life had cost her nothing. It was Kenny who pulled Levi out of that hellhole. He’d somehow heard that his nephew had been caught. Worked something out—or handled someone—Levi still didn’t know how. But after that, Levi understood something crystal clear: Petty theft? Scraping by for crumbs? Trying to be a decent person in this goddamn city? All of it was bullshit. If you wanted to live, you had to fight for your place—and do whatever it took. Kenny took him under his wing and introduced him to the real game: The mafia. The machine that shoveled in money by the ton. The same machine that had stolen the only people Levi had ever cared about. He sold his freedom for a life free of want in this reeking, rotting city. No regrets. He might not be up there on the surface, but he was alive—and living well. The price? Just an all-consuming guilt and the bitter memories of the dead. Levi trained himself not to feel. To ignore the pain, the shame, the sorrow. In the end, the less you think, the less it eats you alive. Just do your dirty work. Get paid. Sure, a bullet to the head is always one step away—but so far, Levi had been lucky. Getting his ODM gear had been easy. Scouts died like flies outside the walls, and with the right bribes, you could get gear stripped from a corpse. No one sent out an expensive retrieval team just for one lost rig. And with the right black market connections, you could find anything. Levi taught himself how to use it. Nearly killed himself the first time, drawing attention from half the Underground. But he figured it out quickly. ODM gear opened a whole new world. He could escape missions fast, get to the surface unnoticed, and just as easily vanish again. His skills rivaled those of trained soldiers—and he’d made peace with his fate. Truth be told, it wasn’t a bad life. He didn’t have to worry about raids. The police knew about the mafia—but they were scared shitless of the ones guarding the gates. Local gangs had made it very clear that stuffed mouths were better filled with bills than gags. No word ever reached the higher-ups. The Underground was perfectly safe for the mafia. The green recruits from the surface didn’t even dare step into the shady districts of Stohess—quiet and clean in comparison to the nightmare below. And under the city? No one even thought of going there. The street stretched endlessly before him. Levi’s exhaustion made every step feel longer. His thoughts were spinning. A drunk lay sprawled outside a bar still booming with off-key music. The man looked pitiful. Ragged, blue-faced—probably not even breathing. Levi grimaced and stepped around the body. No matter how hard he tried to shut it out, the past kept creeping in. He pitied them—those prostitutes, the drunkards, the lepers, the beggars clawing for survival. He wanted to stop caring. But Levi knew himself how it was for them. Firsthand experience. He knew what real hunger was. Not just a growling stomach—agony. He could still remember the burning pain that scorched every inch of his body. He didn’t even remember what exactly had killed his mother. Maybe it was hunger. Not an illness. Who can tell? By the time Kenny showed up at the door, Levi was already halfway in the grave. He hadn’t eaten in so long that his mind barely worked anymore. It had been so goddamn tragic. He pitied himself. Once, Levi and his friends had dreamed of the surface. Of escaping. Of never again smelling this sickening mix of booze and mold. The city had tried to devour him—grinding him down in its gears. But Levi had gotten used to it. He could never quite bring himself to leave for good. He was too deep in the world of crime to give up the money, the taste of power, the grudging respect. Up there, he was nothing. Just filth. A bastard. A pest wrecking the streets. A cockroach who, for some incomprehensible reason, still hadn’t died in a gutter. All that was left to him was to become like his uncle. A man who looked out for no one but himself. A son of a bitch raking in dirty money. The only thing that had saved Levi today— was Mikasa. That singer who just happened to cross his path. She clearly had her own score to settle with the police—why else would she help? If only she’d agreed to stay the night… The dark thoughts began to fade, just from remembering her. Levi didn’t understand why he’d gone so easy on her. He could’ve forced her to do whatever he wanted. Could’ve used her as a literal shield. But something about her had stirred something human in him. She meant nothing to him. He could’ve saved his own skin and left her to whatever fate awaited. So why the hell did she get to him? A pretty face? She wasn’t the only beautiful woman in his world. And yet—those uniquely shaped eyes, her poise, her soft and alluring voice—they wouldn’t leave his mind. Levi shoved the thoughts deep down. He was already approaching the headquarters.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

The headquarters looked more like a warehouse. A massive space carved out of the granite rock, reinforced with rust-eaten iron beams, it was piled high with crates of goods, weapons, and who-knows-what else. Levi paid little attention to all that junk. He was his own weapon—and aside from the ODM gear, his favourite revolver, and an old, battered knife, he didn’t care for much else. Life would’ve been far too simple if just owning some flashy weapon guaranteed survival or respect. But time and again, he had to prove—to others and to himself—that he belonged in this world, that he was someone to be respected. The only thing that helped Levi was his strength. Ravenous rust had already chewed holes through some of the supports. The iron door, dented from the last shootout, creaked open. Levi stepped inside, brushing off his hands in irritation. Rust stains had worked their way into the lines of his palms. “Hey, Kenny!” Levi shouted into the darkness, not expecting much. No answer. Kenny might’ve long since cleared out with the rest. Too much time had passed. He was supposed to have returned hours ago. Everyone had probably assumed he was just another body in some back-alley shootout. Movement stirred in the corner. Rats, Levi thought—but then he heard a familiar grumble. “Stop shouting like that. My head’s splitting.” A match flared in the dark, revealing Kenny’s silhouette in the sickly yellow glow. “I thought you were dead,” Levi said. “Keep dreaming. I’ll outlive you yet.” Kenny stood, lighting a kerosene lamp. The room brightened. “With the way you live? Unlikely,” Levi muttered, nudging an empty liquor bottle with his foot. Kenny gave a gravelly laugh and fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Another match flared, sputtering in the damp air of the catacombs. Kenny struck it harder, grinding it deep into the matchbox. It snapped in two, and he tossed it away in frustration. He looked on edge. Really on edge. “What happened with the job?” Levi knew he’d ask. But explaining just how bad it had gone was harder than he expected. He hissed something unintelligible and turned away, trying to gather his thoughts. He could’ve handled the job—if not for the circumstances. But admitting failure always stung. “I see,” Kenny said, sounding pensive at Levi’s silence. At least Levi wouldn’t have to explain himself like some schoolboy caught stealing. He pulled out his lighter and lit Kenny’s cigarette. The red ember glowed, catching paper. Kenny took a long drag and exhaled a plume of smoke—sulfur and tobacco quickly filling the room. Then he slumped onto a wooden crate behind him. “You fell asleep in here?” Levi asked, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm. “I figured you’d been shot.” Kenny stood up again and began pacing nervously.“You didn’t show at the set time.” “Don’t cry about it. You know how it is. If not for the ODM and—” Levi’s gaze flicked up to Kenny—and he hesitated. Mikasa was on the tip of his tongue, dangerously close to slipping out. Kenny didn’t need to know about the singer. She didn’t need that kind of trouble. No way was he putting mafia heat on her head. “ODM and what?” Kenny turned, still pacing. His eyes glinted with annoyance in the dim light. He was definitely rattled—but Levi couldn’t tell by what. Was he really worried about him? Unlikely. Kenny was no softie. More likely it was the mission that had him wound tight. “Luck,” Levi said clearly. “They would’ve filled me with holes otherwise. But not today.” A long breath escaped from Kenny. He stopped pacing and looked at Levi with a strange expression. “I told the boss not to send that deadweight, but—well. You see how that turned out. It’s a damn mess.” “It took itself out,” Levi replied bitterly, remembering how blood had bloomed like ink on worn-out shirts, right where the bullets punched through soft, fragile bodies. He’d seen death before, many times, but he never got used to the sheer stupidity of it. “Main thing now is that the one who got caught doesn’t talk. He’s better off keeping his mouth shut.” Kenny was quiet for a second. “He won’t,” he said flatly. “He’s got nothing to say.” “What do you mean?” Levi stared at him, not liking the direction his thoughts were heading—but not wanting to believe it could really be that stupid. “Exactly what I said. They thought it was just a basic hit on some rich brat.” Kenny turned away, exhaling smoke again. “Some of them hadn’t even held a weapon properly before this.” Levi’s fists clenched. His nails dug into the calloused skin of his palms, sending a sharp sting through his hands. Rage boiled up instantly. The heist they’d spent weeks planning—sabotaged by sheer idiocy? Why? Why did those kids have to die? “How did you let that happen?” He shut his eyes, blood pounding in his ears. Painful memories surged forward. He’d been in their shoes. Many of his early crew had died the same way. Thrown at jobs like cannon fodder, with no real chance of surviving. Not everyone had the speed, strength, or luck to claw their way through. His first mission had ended in a bloodbath—and he was the only one who made it out alive. He’d accepted it back then. No one got into the mafia for free. No one earned respect from a name alone. You had to prove your right to be here again and again. The organisation weeded out the weak by sending them on suicide jobs. Levi used to accept that, too. But now it just pissed him off. Sure, they were criminals, killers, filth. But how was this any different from the Scouts? At least out there, beyond the walls, the kids knew they were walking to their deaths. Sure, it was stupid and hopeless—but they had a cause. They had freedom. People called them heroes. But what did these kids get? What were they dying for—besides their own ignorance? Levi wanted to hate the system. Wanted to scream and punch a wall. But he played by the rules like everyone else. He never spoke out. That’s how the place worked. So long as he was just a grunt—someone you sent to do the dirty work—no one gave a damn about his opinion. Climbing higher? He didn’t have the strength left to try. Hope dies last. And his had died with his only friends. “There were reasons,” Kenny said simply. And from his tone, Levi knew the old bastard understood more than he let on—but had no plans to share. There was nothing Levi could do but close his eyes and accept that the higher-ups were out of their goddamn minds. “What now?” “Easiest option? Put a bullet in your own skull before the bosses do it for you.” Levi scowled. “We’re that deep in shit?” “We’re buried.” Kenny took another hard drag. The cigarette flared red, burning fast toward his fingers. “We know too much. You and me both. Thanks for not bringing the cops back with you.” He tossed the butt. It hit the concrete and sparked, throwing off glowing embers. Kenny crushed it underfoot. Levi grimaced but didn’t say anything. Clean floors were the least of his problems now.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

Mikasa came home completely wrecked. Her feet ached mercilessly; all she wanted was to sink into the bath and stay there until her muscles stopped aching. She needed to wash off the stench of alcohol, cheap tobacco, and smoke. And Levi’s touch. A shiver ran through her whole body when it finally hit her—who he really was, and why his face had seemed so familiar. Mikasa had known he was in some gang, but only now did she realise exactly which one. God, she’d saved the wrong man. Completely the wrong man. She flinched. Levi—the man everyone inside the walls feared—had touched her in every way possible. It made her burn with shame remembering how tightly she had clung to him, wishing desperately for him to whisk them away from that hellish bar. Bold, ruthless, unbothered by rules or morals, he had somehow still managed to come off as decent enough for her to trust him. How foolish. Kicking off her heels and covering her face with both hands, Mikasa groaned. This was humiliating. No wonder no one ever really recognised him—newspapers printed unflattering sketches of a scrawny guy, but the real Levi, though admittedly short, was strong and striking. And to think… she had actually liked that damn thief! What had gotten into her? Only now did Mikasa fully realise how much danger she’d been in next to Levi. Rumours painted him as nothing short of insane. He could’ve done anything to her, and she would’ve stood no chance. Her lighter, though looking as a real thing, had no use. She never even learned how to shoot. In hand-to-hand, she wouldn’t have lasted. No matter the power, Levi was a man and would’ve crushed her. Worse — rape, if he really wanted to. Still—at least she was home now. Safe. Somehow, she’d made it through unscathed. Turning him in would be the smart thing. Go to the police tomorrow, report him, and forget this nightmare ever happened. Footsteps sounded above. “Where the hell have you been?!” The voice—sharp, angry—stabbed straight into her temples. Mikasa looked up. Eren. She’d completely forgotten he was on leave this week. They were supposed to spend the weekend together. Mikasa stood there, feeling guilty, staring at his uniform, the Wings of Freedom stitched on his sleeves, the faint flicker of the kerosene lamp barely lighting the room. Her fear, shame, and exhaustion slowly began to melt away. Eren was home. That was what mattered. She was glad to see him. Right now, she needed rest—and someone to lean on. They rarely saw each other since he’d joined the army. She missed him terribly, counting the days until he came back. If he came back. Mikasa often scolded herself for not enlisting, despite her natural talent. But she had known: it wasn’t the life for her. She worried about Eren constantly—how he managed without her, how he pushed himself under brutal training, flew straight at monsters without hesitation. She wanted to follow him into the army at first. Even if he was against it. But Mikasa couldn’t possibly see him pushing himself through brutal training over and over, seeing him suffer, exhausted. And Eren had been clear: he didn’t want her there. Said he didn’t need a nanny. So she didn’t follow. But guilt, the need to be close to him, it still gnawed at her. She was singing instead of saving the one she loved. Was it the right thing? “I waited for you outside the bar like we agreed,” Eren said. “I show up and the place is burnt to the ground.” His voice was calmer now, but it seethed with anger. “Why didn’t you come home? What the hell happened? And why are you still in that dress?” Mikasa felt like she was being interrogated. The questions came too fast for her to answer. She hadn’t even remembered he was coming. Guilt bubbled up in her chest. His voice—loud, firm—made her wince. If he woke the neighbours, they’d never hear the end of it. But her legs ached, her head throbbed. She touched her burning forehead, feeling a vein pounding under her fingers. “Were you worried about me?” was all she could muster. Not an unfamiliar tone from him, but this time he was justified. Mikasa knew that. “Not at all.” The words struck like a slap, but she was used to it. He didn’t mean it. If he hadn’t been worried, he wouldn’t be shouting. “Now you know how I feel,” Mikasa said softly. “When you disappear without a word.” “Don’t change the subject.” His tone grew stern. “You know this is my job.” “And I have a job too,” she shot back. Her voice was steady, defiant. Sure, it didn’t pay much—but she managed. Still, what she did and what he did weren’t the same. “My job brings in money. And it’s useful.” He just wanted to hurt her with that. As if his salary was worth more than his life. “You want me to run straight into a titan’s mouth, like you?” Her voice rose without her realising. “You could. You’ve got the strength.” “You told me not to follow you. You made that choice for me. Make up your damn mind before you blame me!” This argument had been simmering ever since he joined the cadets. He’d said there was no place for her in the military. She’d wanted to follow him—but couldn’t go against his wishes. She’d told herself she’d sneak into the barracks anyway. But time passed. She got used to her job in the fields. Sang on the side. She was good, and invitations started coming. From houses. From bars. From elite soirées. She didn’t even notice how much she liked the attention. The feeling of mattering. In those fancy houses, she’d never be accepted as a soldier. Then Eren’s pay improved. Enough for a place in the capital. Not central, but nice. She had opportunities now. Work. A life. Her dream of joining him on the front faded. And frankly—Mikasa didn’t care about saving humanity anymore. Humanity had taken everything from her. Now it wanted Eren too. And no one would even say thank you. Not even her. She was done. Eren sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired. His voice softened. “Can you at least tell me what happened? The bar burned down.” Mikasa flinched. She didn’t want to talk about the bar. The fear. The shame. The anger. It all tangled inside her. If the bar really burned, everything she’d worked for went up in flames. No pay. No job. Nothing. She remembered the fire starting, Levi smashing the kerosene lamp, hoping they’d put it out in time. Guess not. While she’d been clinging to that damn thief, the bar had turned to ash. “I don’t want to talk,” Mikasa whispered. She moved to slip past Eren, desperate for a hot bath and bed—but then her eyes caught his torn sleeve. Blood. “What’s this?” she demanded, grabbing his arm. Her lips pressed tight, breath caught in her throat. The lump of emotion she’d fought all night finally rose. She wanted so badly to hold it in. He tried to pull his arm away—but she had seen it already. She couldn’t contain it. Not anymore. “I know what happens on your missions!” she shouted, tears spilling fast. “You can lie all you want, but if it weren’t for that titan power of yours, you’d be buried by now!” Her voice cracked with every word. “Why, Eren? Why are you so goddamn stubborn?!” He yanked his wrist free and turned away. Mikasa knew—he hated her tears. They irritated him. But she couldn’t stop. She wanted him to forget the stupid promise to avenge his long dead mother, to stop dreaming about stupid things, this freedom of his. She didn’t want a safe world. She just wanted Eren in it. “I’ll be fine. It’s hard to kill me,” he said gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “And you’re trying so hard to make it easier!” she snapped. She saw the shreds of fabric, the bloodstained skin—and lost it. She turned and ran for the stairs. “Will you just listen?!” He grabbed her, held her tight. She squirmed but couldn’t break free. “The army’s in trouble. I can’t just walk away. They need me. The world needs me. I want a better life. For us.” “I don’t care.” Her voice was quiet but firm. What good was a better world if Eren wasn’t in it? She knew damn well how Eren was. Careless. He had a power, regeneration. What if it would stop working? What if he lost his arm or a leg? What if he dies? “When will you wake up?” she whispered, tears flowing freely. This world had taken too much. And it would take him too. She wiped her face, determined to change the subject. Fighting him was pointless. “Where’s Armin?” They were supposed to be on leave together. He hadn’t mentioned him once. Armin, bright, gentle Armin, who had followed Eren despite all her protests. “He stayed to work on the plan.” She sighed. The army had swallowed them both whole. She was losing them, and could do nothing about it. “Let’s just talk, please,” Eren said, reaching for her hand. “I don’t want to. Let go.” She yanked away. Her whole body trembled. She was furious. Devastated. She stayed in this city only for him. So he’d have a home. A place to rest. But he never saw that. And every time he came home bleeding, she died a little inside. What if his powers failed? What if next time he didn’t come back? She wanted to stop thinking like that. But the fear was always there. It paralysed her. She needed someone. Someone who understood. But Mikasa didn’t know how to make friends. On stage, she sparkled. Off stage, she closed in. She slammed the bathroom door behind her. Let him know he’d hurt her. The cold water helped. When it warmed, she sank into the bath, letting it melt her pain. Her dress lay discarded beside the tub. Ugly now. Wrinkled. Heavy. Just like her. It needed a good washing. She had no power to do it. She’d think about the dress later. She scrubbed herself raw, needing to erase the day. Eventually, she dried off, tossed the dress in a basin to soak, and collapsed into bed. Images of Levi flashed in her mind. Because of him, she wouldn’t get paid. Nearly got shot. And he’d tried to buy her! Mikasa snorted, flipping over in bed. What an arrogant bastard. And yet… That look in his eyes wouldn’t leave her alone.