Consciousness drifted through the void.
There was no light, no sound, no weight, no time.
Only the lingering consciousness of Diablo Clark flickered faintly in the darkness, like a lamp on the verge of going out.
Fragments of memory swirled soundlessly like weightless snowflakes—
Zoe’s pale, smiling face on her hospital bed.
The laboratory’s blinding white light.
The searing heat in the instant a bullet pierced his skull.
And... the eyes of that Eldian mother and son as they looked at him through the glass.
Hollow. Heavy.
Heavy enough to crush an entire soul.
“Is it over?”
“Is this... death?”
A sense of nothingness surged over him, trying to dissolve him completely.
Perhaps vanishing here and now would be the fairest judgment for all his sins.
Just as he was prepared to let go and allow himself to fall into eternity—
A faint glimmer lit up at the end of the darkness.
It was neither a warm flame nor the dawn of hope.
It resembled a distant star: cold, unwavering, the only thing that did not belong to this void.
It was calling to him.
It said: You are not finished yet.
“As long as... I can reach it...”
Not for redemption. He did not dare hope for that.
It came from the most fundamental instinct—the fear of utter annihilation, and... one lingering attachment he could not let go of.
Zoe... What would happen to her?
That faint attachment became the fuel driving his final thought. Gathering every remnant of his consciousness, he struggled toward that beam of light like a moth rushing into flame.
There were no limbs, no body—only pure will resisting the void.
He did not know how much time passed—an instant, or a century—before his “perception” touched the light.
The next moment, he was violently “cast” into a space beyond comprehension.
Beneath him stretched a vast sea of fine, cold white sand.
Above was an endless twilight sky, eternally frozen in place—strange and magnificent.
At the center of his vision stood a colossal tree reaching toward the heavens, formed entirely of pure light.
No. It was not a tree.
It was a pillar of light connecting heaven and earth.
It radiated overwhelming pressure, and... an irresistible yearning born from the instinct of life itself.
Diablo stared at it all with eyes that did not exist.
“This place... is it the world after death? Hell? Or...”
As a scientist who researched the brain and consciousness, and as a researcher who had read every classified Utopia Academy document concerning the “Paths,” he understood at once.
“The Paths... the gathering place of Eldian consciousness, the source of the Titans’ power...”
The description in Director Armin Arlert’s memoir matched the sight before him perfectly.
But how was that possible?
Diablo was not an Eldian!
Why had his consciousness entered this realm that belonged only to Eldians?
Was it because he had spent so long in contact with Eldian test subjects? Or because... Zoe’s bloodline had drawn him here through some unseen connection?
He tried to rationally dissect this supernatural phenomenon.
The distant pillar of light rippled like water struck by a stone.
At the same time, an even stronger, more primal desire surged up from the depths of his consciousness—
Get closer!
Melt into that light!
The inexplicable impulse instantly put him on guard.
“Something is wrong... This feeling... is like a Venus flytrap luring insects with nectar...”
The researcher’s instinct had caught the scent of danger.
That pillar of light was “calling” him, but behind the call lay an unknown assimilation and annihilation.
He turned, trying to move away from the pillar.
What lay behind him nearly froze his consciousness.
At the edge of the sea of sand, a pitch-black abyss that devoured every trace of light was slowly spreading outward.
It was not a physical entity.
It was more like the reverse side of “existence” itself—the ultimate “nothing.”
Wherever it passed, the white drifting sand was swallowed whole and returned to absolute nothingness.
It was approaching?
No... Its target seemed to be that pillar of light!
And he happened to stand between them.
Before him was a light that stirred an instinctive yearning, yet might devour his very self.
Behind him was darkness that represented absolute extinction, annihilating all things.
Diablo’s expression turned bitter.
“It seems I have no choice at all.”
Charging toward the pillar might still offer him a sliver of hope to continue “existing.”
Remaining where he was meant only being swallowed by the abyss.
This was a choice with no correct answer.
He could only choose the ending that might be less terrible.
He no longer hesitated. Driving his thoughts forward, he “ran” toward the pillar of light.
At the same time, he spared part of his attention to gauge the speed at which the abyss behind him was closing in.
He had to be fast!
A massive sand sculpture entered his range of perception—
Its posture was grotesquely twisted, its ribs jutting outward, its shape resembling an enormous centipede.
“This is... the ‘Devil of All Earth’ from the records of the Battle of Heaven and Earth... Eren Yeager.”
Armin’s memoir had mentioned that Ymir fashioned sand sculptures within the Paths and bestowed the power of the Titans.
“Could my journey toward the pillar of light also be retracing history?”
The abyss was closing in, leaving him no time for deeper thought.
Not long after he had left that sand sculpture behind, a ragged girl silently appeared atop the spine-like monument.
Her empty eyes stared in the direction he had gone.
He continued onward.
He passed more Titan sand sculptures: a Titan covered in solid armor, a Titan with wings on its back like those of a hawk, twisted Pure Titans with vacant faces...
It was a silent and magnificent Titan epic written in sand.
“The Armored Titan, the Beast Titan?”
He made his guesses based on what little historical knowledge he had left.
The moment he passed through the cluster of sand sculptures and stepped onto another expanse of empty sand, the yearning inside him for the pillar of light abruptly intensified beyond suppression!
“What is happening?! The pull is increasing exponentially!”
He watched helplessly as he accelerated into a mad “sprint,” moving faster and faster, as if he had broken free from some kind of restraint.
The abyss and the sand sculptures behind him were flung far away.
Scattered sand sculptures appeared along his path once more, their forms even more ancient and indistinct.
Then, in the midst of his uncontrolled rush, he stepped into a seemingly tranquil patch of quicksand concealing deadly danger!
“Damn it!”
He tried to struggle, but the invisible pull and the sinking force of the quicksand left him utterly incapable of resistance.
The quicksand swiftly swallowed his “chest,” his “chin,” his “mouth and nose”...
Until it consumed him completely.
The world returned to darkness.
But unlike the void before, this darkness carried a strange sensation of being wrapped up.
Warm. Moist.
As if he had returned to his most primordial state.
His consciousness curled up involuntarily in that darkness, like an infant returned to its mother’s womb.
All struggle, thought, and guilt gradually drifted away.
They were replaced by a deep, irresistible weariness.
He sank into a profound sleep.
Year 833. Wall Rose. A farmhouse in the northern Reiss territory.
A kerosene lamp cast warped, wavering shadows onto the rough paper-covered wooden window, like a cluster of agitated ghosts.
Sander Andres paced back and forth outside the door. His palms were rough, with dirt embedded in the creases that no amount of washing could remove.
Every muffled groan from inside the house was like a blunt knife gouging into his heart.
"Luna, push harder! Almost there! Almost there! The head is coming out!"
Midwife Sophia’s voice pierced through the door, carrying a forced calm.
Inside, Luna lay on the bed, drenched in cold sweat. Her teeth were clenched, and thin rivulets of blood seeped from the corners of her lips.
Her fingers dug fiercely into the bedsheets, her knuckles white.
As though she meant to clench all the agony in the world within her palms.
She had struggled for an entire night.
Her strength was fading bit by bit alongside the darkening twilight outside the window.
Sophia bent down and pressed against Luna’s abdomen, taut as stone. Her fingertips felt the violent movements of the fetus—
But they were not the movements of a child greeting life.
They were the struggles of a trapped beast.
Mother and child were fighting some unseen calamity together.
Suddenly, Sophia’s heart sank.
A chill shot up her spine to the crown of her head.
Under the dim, flickering lamplight, she saw clearly—
What emerged from the birth canal was not the baby’s head.
It was a pair of tiny, bruised-purple feet.
The feet had come out first.
A footling breech birth.
In this kind of difficult delivery, nine times out of ten... neither survived.
"Luna, don’t push! Stop for now! Breathe!" Sophia forced down the tremor in her throat, but a trace of panic still leaked into her voice.
She swiftly reached inside, trying to gently push the fetus back and adjust its position.
Even a standard breech position would do. At least then there would be a sliver of hope.
"I... I’m all right..." Luna whispered weakly, her lashes trembling. "Is the baby... all right?"
"Yes, yes, perfectly fine! You’ll see him any moment now!" Sophia forced a smile, her voice dry and bitter.
But she knew—
Driven by the contractions, the fetus would not budge, stubbornly retaining that fatal position.
As if even fate itself refused to let it be born.
Then came an even worse moment.
After one violent contraction, the baby’s buttocks and its other foot slipped out as well.
Only the head remained, firmly wedged in the narrow birth canal, unable to advance even an inch.
“It’s over...”
Despair crashed over the old midwife like icy water, freezing every limb in an instant.
The child had been deprived of oxygen for far too long.
Even if they managed to pull him out, he would probably still...
She dared not think any further.
"Sander! Come in! Get in here, quickly!" Sophia screamed, her voice tearing apart with a sob.
The door burst open, and a cold wind carrying the breath of night swept inside.
Sander rushed in, his face still speckled with dew and dirt.
But when he saw the tiny, bruised-purple, motionless lower half of the infant beneath his wife at a glance, he went rigid as if struck by lightning.
"Don’t just stand there! Hold down her belly! Push downward with all your strength! Now!" Sophia practically roared the command, her eyes bloodshot.
Sander snapped out of it like a man waking from a dream and staggered forward, a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
He extended the large hands that had plowed fields and turned soil, pressing them tremblingly against his wife’s swollen abdomen.
But what touched his fingertips was not the rhythm of life.
It was a suffocating coldness and stiffness.
Fear was like sludge in a swamp, slowly rising past his ankles, knees, and waist...
Dragging him down into the abyss.
"Luna! Can you hear me? One last time! The three of us push together! For the child!" Sophia’s voice was nearly hysterical, like a drowning woman grasping at her final straw.
All three of them exhausted the last of their strength.
The bedframe creaked, and sweat dripped onto the floorboards.
Yet it was all in vain.
During the brutal struggle, the baby’s compressed head had become badly deformed, its outline twisted almost beyond recognition as human.
Luna released a hoarse whimper, spent the last thread of strength in her life to thrust herself forward—
Then collapsed heavily.
The dreadful sound of flesh tearing apart.
The infant finally came free from the mother’s body.
But the tiny body was limp, its head unnaturally long and twisted, without the slightest sign of breath.
With tears in her eyes, Sophia placed the cold, rigid infant into the arms of the stunned father.
"...Hold him... properly..."
Then she turned around and used every skill she had learned in her lifetime to save the unconscious mother, who would not stop bleeding.
Sander held the lifeless child and stood there like a stone statue.
Tears blurred his vision.
His immense grief robbed him of the ability to think.
Within the warped, wavering shadows of the kerosene lamp, he seemed to see an illusion—
The phantom of a girl with long golden hair gently stroked the infant’s bruised-purple cheek.
Leaving behind a nearly imperceptible sigh.
Sophia finally managed to stabilize Luna’s condition with herbs and bandages, barely stopping the bleeding.
When she turned around, she found Sander still holding the infant, utterly motionless.
As if even his soul had departed.
She was about to step forward to comfort him when her footsteps abruptly halted.
Her clouded eyes locked onto the small body in Sander’s arms—
Color was visibly returning to that little face, which should have remained cold and purple!
And in the cold air... faint wisps of white vapor, warm with the heat of life, were rising from it!
"Sander! Wake up!" She rushed over and slapped the numb man’s cheek hard. Her voice shrilled with excitement. "The baby... the baby has come back to life! A miracle! Goddess above! It’s a miracle!"
Sander wiped away his tears in confusion and looked down.
The infant in his arms was weakly, yet undeniably, drawing powerful breaths, his tiny chest rising and falling!
Trembling, Sander pressed his ear to that small, warm chest.
The strong, steady heartbeat was like the most thunderous drumbeat, instantly shattering all his grief and despair.
"I have a child! Luna! We have a child!"
Sander clutched the swaddled infant tightly. His voice broke as he nearly jumped up in jubilation, only to lower it instinctively, afraid of disturbing this hard-won life.
Tears rolled down without end, splashing against his coarse homespun clothes.
"Shh! Luna has only just fallen asleep! Don’t wake her!" Sophia smacked his back, though tears were already streaming down her own face. With her hands clasped, she prayed softly. "Thank the Wall Goddess... Thank you for bestowing this blessing."
"Oh, right, right..." Sander grinned foolishly. As though holding the most fragile treasure in the world, his fingertips gently brushed over the infant’s warm cheek.
"Luna had already decided... If it was a boy, he would be called Aeternus. If it was a girl, Aeterna... It means ‘eternal.’"
He gazed at the wrinkled little face, his voice as soft as a dreamer’s murmur.
"May you live a long, long life... May you never suffer such hardship again..."
"You’ll be called Aeternus, all right, little one?"
As if he truly understood his father’s call, the infant, who had been so unnaturally quiet until then, suddenly opened his little mouth—
A cry pierced the silence.
It was weak, but stubborn and clear, carrying an undeniable vitality.
Like a faint ray of light piercing the shadow of death that had only just shrouded the room.
Sander immediately fumbled in a panic and nearly shook the child right out of his arms.
"Move aside! Give me the baby! You clumsy fool of a man!" Sophia laughed as she snatched the infant away, though her movements were gentle as if she were handling a tender spring sprout. With practiced hands, she cleaned and wrapped him.
On that day, an infant named Aeternus Andres was born by a miracle in a farmhouse on the northern frontier of Wall Rose.
No one knew—
Within that newborn shell, still stained with blood, a soul from two hundred years in the future was slowly sinking down, closing its eyes in exhaustion.
Diablo Clark had finally found a new vessel.
And the invisible threads between him, this land, and the “Paths” that transcended time and space quietly twisted together into a knot at that very moment.
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