Chapter 10 — The Moment That Should Have Broken Them
It happens on a day that feels deceptively ordinary.
The sky is clear. The air is calm. Too calm.
You're in the courtyard when the signal flare cuts through the sky—sharp, red, urgent.
Titan breach. Northern perimeter.
Everything snaps into motion.
Boots pound stone. Orders fly. The familiar chaos surges like a tide. You don't freeze. You don't panic. You grab your satchel and run.
The aftermath is worse than expected.
Not catastrophic. Not apocalyptic.
Just… wrong.
The patrol returns with fewer soldiers than they left with. Blood on uniforms. Hollow eyes. One stretcher covered with a sheet.
Jean is the first to break.
He stares at the covered form, unmoving, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whiten. "We were supposed to rotate," he says, voice shaking. "He wasn't even supposed to be out there."
No one answers.
Eren stands frozen, breathing shallow, anger and guilt fighting behind his eyes. Mikasa's hand grips his sleeve, but even she looks uncertain—like she doesn't know how to hold him together this time.
And then there's Levi.
He doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
But you see it.
The way his jaw tightens. The way his shoulders stiffen just slightly more than usual. The weight of command pressing down on him—another name added to the list he'll never forget.
This is the moment canon usually breaks them.
You step forward.
You don't shout. You don't give a speech.
You kneel beside the stretcher.
Slowly, respectfully, you adjust the sheet—just enough so the soldier's face is visible. Young. Peaceful. Gone.
"He mattered," you say quietly.
Every eye turns to you.
"He wasn't a mistake. He wasn't expendable. He mattered."
Jean's breath shudders.
Eren swallows hard.
Mikasa looks at you like she's seeing something she didn't know she needed.
You stand and face them—not as a commander, not as a hero.
"As someone who stayed."
"We don't have to pretend this doesn't hurt," you continue softly. "We don't have to rush past it. Just… give it a moment. For him."
Silence falls.
Not heavy.
Reverent.
Levi steps forward.
Slowly.
He places his hand over the soldier's chest in a rare, deliberate gesture of acknowledgment.
"…Dismissed," he says, voice low. "Take five."
It's unheard of.
And it changes everything.
Later, in the infirmary, the fallout comes quietly.
Jean sits beside you, head in his hands. "I almost lost it out there," he admits. "If you hadn't said something…"
"You didn't lose it," you say gently. "You felt it. That's different."
Sasha brings you food without a word and sits beside you while you eat. Connie hovers nearby, clearly wanting to say something but unsure how.
Eren approaches last.
"I hate that I couldn't save him," he says, voice raw.
You meet his gaze. "You can't save everyone. But you can remember them. And keep going."
He nods, eyes wet but steady.
That's new.
Night falls.
You're alone in the corridor when Levi appears.
"You shouldn't have done that," he says.
You turn. "I know."
A long pause.
"…I'm glad you did."
The words are quiet. Barely there.
But they're real.
"You changed how they processed it," he continues. "Including me."
You hesitate. "I didn't mean to overstep."
"You didn't." He exhales slowly. "You reminded us we're not just weapons."
Silence stretches between you—not awkward, not tense.
Comfortable.
"…Stay close," Levi adds, almost reluctantly. "Things are going to get worse."
You nod. "I know."
And you stay.
That night, the barracks are quieter than usual.
Not numb.
Healing.
For the first time in a long time, grief is shared instead of swallowed.
And the truth settles in, undeniable now:
You didn't change the battle.
You changed what came after.
And that's something this world never had before.
🔥 End of Chapter 10