(Annie's Perspective)
The dawn whistle pierced the silence of the Marley training camp. Annie Leonhart opened her eyes almost the instant it sounded and sat up from her hard cot. While the other girls in her dormitory still wrestled with sleep, she had already efficiently pulled on her training uniform and begun making her bed.
Her movements remained precise and efficient. Yet something in the force driving her had quietly changed.
"Find a way to survive. Then... come find me."
Aeternus's voice flashed through her mind alongside the phantom image of that white sea of sand. Absurd. Naive. Yet like a stone cast into stagnant water, it sent enduring ripples across the lake of her empty heart. Bring him out, and bring herself out as well. That selfish, tangible promise had become the sole visible star in the darkness, giving every one of her actions a purpose she had never known before.
On the training grounds, the scent of earth mingled with the saltiness of sweat. Basic physical drills, sparring, tactical instruction... everything was as usual, yet different everywhere.
Reiner Braun still carried that laughable obsession with proving something. Bertholdt Hoover was as silent as ever. Porco Galliard was perpetually restless, while his older brother Marcel was composed. Pieck Finger calmly observed everything. Zeke usually did nothing more than stand at the edge of the field, watching with a smile.
During a sparring match, after Annie once again brought Reiner down with a clean, efficient joint lock, she did not immediately step away as she had in the past. Looking down at him, her ice-blue eyes no longer held pure indifference, but an assessing sharpness.
"Your center of gravity is too far forward," she said evenly. "You're too eager to overpower your opponent, leaving too much of an opening in your lower body. Porco, if you came in from the left, you could easily disrupt him."
Porco, having been singled out, froze for a moment. Reiner's face was full of astonishment. The instructor and the other Warrior candidates also turned surprised looks toward her. Annie Leonhart—the iceberg—was actually offering critiques, even conducting a tactical simulation?
She ignored their stares. This was not for the sake of instructing anyone. It was practice. Practice in analyzing an opponent more effectively, in anticipating shifts on the battlefield. Because in the future, she would no longer be facing companions on a training field, but true enemies Inside the Walls—and every unknown obstacle on the path toward that promise.
She began taking greater initiative. During tactical simulation classes, while the others were still fixated on a frontal assault, she would suddenly point out an easily overlooked flanking route on the map. "Pieck, if your Cart Titan feints from here to draw their fire, the main force can quickly infiltrate from the edge of the swamp behind them. The risk is high, but it avoids the primary defensive positions."
Pieck blinked. Tilting her head, she looked at Annie with a newfound depth in her eyes, then slowly nodded. "Highly feasible. But it would require accurate intelligence and precise timing."
Even Zeke would occasionally draw his gaze back from the distance and let it settle on the short-haired blonde girl who seemed to have awakened overnight, a faint scrutiny in his eyes.
She was no longer merely a superior tool that carried out orders. A new initiative rooted in calm analysis had begun to reveal itself in her. She trained even harder—not only in physical conditioning and combat, but secretly studying maps and battle records. She even began actively consulting the instructors about tactical questions beyond the current curriculum.
Survive, grow stronger, and then fulfill her promise. This simple goal, like a new signpost, let her see a clear direction amid the tedious, agonizing training.
The change was also taking place beyond the training camp, in that silent, oppressive home.
On a routine day of leave, Annie pushed open the familiar wooden door. Her father was still seated beside the old table, his back hunched, a pair of crutches resting by his side.
"Father, I'm home."
Her father turned around. It was difficult to make out the expression in his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. "Mm." His voice was dry. "How... is the training going?"
In the past, her answer would have been the same every time: "Fine," or "Up to standard." Or she would simply remain silent.
But today, she paused before adding, "We carried out new squad coordination tactical drills. I... offered some thoughts."
Her father's hand, holding his pipe, paused slightly. He raised his eyes and examined his daughter more closely. He noticed that her gaze no longer resembled the utterly sealed, lifeless glacier it had once been. Beneath that ice, there seemed to be the faintest trace of something moving.
"...Good." There was a nearly imperceptible tremor in his voice. He fell silent, seeming to want to say something, but ultimately only waved a hand. "Go rest."
Annie did not leave at once. Looking at the wrinkles across her father's brow, the girl who was sharp and decisive in the fighting ring curled her fingers slightly in nervousness. Aeternus's question about what her father expected of her was like a thorn lodged in her heart.
"Father," she began, her voice slightly lower than usual, "you... want me to become a Warrior. And then what?"
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Her father's body visibly stiffened, and the knuckles gripping his pipe turned white. He did not look at Annie. His eyes remained fixed on a point on the tabletop, as though something unbearable lay there.
"...Become a Warrior, inherit the power of the Titans... for Marley... for us Eldians..." With difficulty, almost mechanically, he repeated the slogans he had heard countless times. But there was no conviction in his voice—only a bottomless weariness and... fear.
"And then?" Annie pressed, her voice quiet but carrying an insistence that would not allow avoidance. This was the first time she had so directly challenged the narrative of her predetermined fate.
Her father abruptly looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, churning with pain, struggle, and something Annie had never seen before—an expression almost pleading. "Enough!" he growled hoarsely. "Walk your path! Don't ask! Some paths... once you set foot on them, there is no turning back!"
His violent reaction confirmed Annie's long-held suspicion: the end of this road was anything but glory.
Watching her father in his agitation and pain, Annie did not feel the familiar coldness of being reprimanded. Instead, a strange calm rose within her. She saw the crack beneath that hardened shell, and the warped concern wrapped in fear.
She did not press him further. She merely stood there quietly until his ragged breathing gradually calmed.
"...Survive, Annie." After a long time, he forced out the words in a voice nearly no more than breath, so quiet they were almost inaudible. "No matter what happens... find a way to survive."
Those words were the complete opposite of the "give everything" he had always emphasized. Like a key, they abruptly opened the long-rusted door between father and daughter.
It felt as if an invisible hand had clenched Annie's heart. Looking at her father's hunched back, she understood for the first time with such clarity that beneath those crushing expectations and rigid admonitions might lie an equally profound, yet inexpressible, love and fear.
He had not given her a clear answer. But he had given her something more important: permission, one that coincided perfectly with the promise made in the sea of sand.
Survive.
"I will, Father," Annie answered softly, with a gravity she had never shown before.
She said nothing else and turned toward her small room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against its cold wooden surface and could hear her father's suppressed, heavy breathing outside.
The frozen ground had finally split open along its first crack.
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