"A story?" Zeke's brow rose in mild surprise. He looked around at the quiet, moonlit street—deserted, the faint wind carrying the scent of dust and ash. "You sure this is a good place for storytelling?"
Erwin smiled faintly, the lamplight catching in his gray-blue eyes. "It's fine. We're all here. And I thought… you probably don't want to go back to that cell just yet. After all that time locked up, it wouldn't hurt to breathe a little free air, right?"
Zeke took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke that curled like mist. "…You remind me of my brother."
"Your brother?" Erwin asked, puzzled. "Eren? He's, what—ten? How could we possibly be alike?"
Zeke's lips curved faintly. No matter how many times that kid lives, he'll still be like that—stubborn about freedom to the very end.
Freedom. Such a simple word.
He never truly cared for it himself.
Some people dedicate their lives to chasing it. But for him, life had always been about purpose—about direction. Without it, he'd only find pain. When he was young, he'd shared one purpose with his mentor, Ksaver: to sterilize the Eldians, to end the cycle of suffering. That had given him meaning.
Now, the plan was gone. His father was gone. And even his brother's path—he didn't know whether to destroy it or protect it.
Emptiness. That was all that remained.
Erwin's voice broke through his thoughts.
"My father was a history teacher," he began. "That day, he was lecturing about the history of mankind."
Zeke listened in silence.
"A hundred years ago, Titans appeared. They devoured humans, pushing us to the brink of extinction. Then, King Fritz built the three great Walls, and humanity took refuge inside. Since then, we've lived peacefully here."
Erwin's tone was calm, almost too even.
"But strangely," he continued, "there are no records from before humanity fled behind the Walls. None. Not a single document explaining how the Titans came to be, or what the world used to look like."
Zeke could hear the curiosity in his voice—the same restless hunger that defined Erwin.
"The people inside the Walls come from different races and origins—Eastern, Western, dark-haired, blond, red-haired…"
Levi, crouched nearby with a cigarette between his fingers, lifted an eyebrow. Black hair… blond hair… red hair…
He shot Erwin a look. "You implying something, Commander?"
Erwin ignored him and went on.
"With so many people gathered from so many backgrounds, we still couldn't piece together a complete history. So I asked my father about it. He didn't answer in class… but when we got home, he told me something strange."
"He said the official history—what the monarchy teaches—is full of contradictions. Holes. Lies."
Zeke's cigarette burned slowly between his fingers. He knew this story well. The kind that started with curiosity—and ended with tragedy.
Erwin's voice softened. "At the time, I was too young to understand why he whispered it only at home, never at school. But I told some classmates about what he said…"
His eyes darkened.
"The next day, the Military Police Brigade came."
Zeke's fingers trembled slightly; the ash fell from the cigarette.
"After they questioned me, my father never came home. They said it was an accident somewhere else. I didn't understand it back then—but now I do."
He laughed bitterly.
"My father was killed by people's greed—and by his foolish son who couldn't keep quiet."
Zeke's chest tightened.
Killed by his foolish son…
The words hit too close.
His mind flashed with memories of his own betrayal—reporting Grisha and Dina to Marley's authorities. He told himself it was the right thing. That it would save them. That it was the only choice.
But in truth, he'd only doomed them.
If Erwin's father died because of his son's naïveté, then Zeke's parents died because of his cowardice.
He forced his face back to neutrality and flicked the cigarette ash away. "So, Commander Erwin," he asked quietly, "what are you trying to tell me with this story?"
Erwin leaned back against the cold wall. "You're new here. You don't know how the power inside the Walls works. So I'll say it simply—the Military Police Brigade answer to the monarchy. Everything they do is on royal orders."
"Oh, I see," Zeke said dryly. "So you're telling me your father was killed by the King, and now you want to rebel? What's the sentence for treason here again?"
"Capital offense."
Zeke gave a humorless laugh. "Then you've got guts, I'll give you that."
"I just want you to understand," Erwin said quietly, "that maybe we're the same. We've both lost something to this world—and we both hate the same chains."
Zeke smiled faintly, a bitter curl of his lips. "You finished your story, Commander. Your father's dead—but you never mentioned your mother. She's alive, then?"
Erwin hesitated. "…Yes."
"Then why bother?" Zeke exhaled smoke, watching it drift away. "Why not stay by her side? Be a good son, live quietly. Why chase some grand, world-shattering cause? You're just a squad leader now. Big dreams like that—before you've got the power to make them real—will only get you and your family killed."
Erwin frowned. "I only want you to trust me."
Zeke's tone turned cold. "You can't help me."
Erwin's patience finally cracked. "Then why," he snapped, "did you say you'd discuss everything in detail when we first met? Why pretend to cooperate if you were never going to?"
Zeke chuckled softly. "Because back then, I thought you were the leader—the 'God of War of Paradis Island.' If I'd met someone like that, maybe we could've changed the future." His smile twisted. "Turns out you're just a soldier. My mistake."
Erwin froze at the strange words. "Paradis Island? God of War?"
Zeke waved the question off. "Don't bother. Just hand me over. I'll tell everyone the truth—right in front of all humanity."
Erwin's eyes hardened. "Do you even know what you're asking? That's not a conference, it's a trial. The only time nobles and commoners gather together is for public judgment! And right now, every piece of evidence we have condemns you, not clears you!"
His voice sharpened. "Do you understand what you're walking into?"