Categories > Anime/Manga > Attack on Titan > Forbidden
It was not his proudest moment, being dropped gracelessly on his ass in the middle of a dirty alleyway, but Levi supposed he should just be happy to be alive. Alive, despite the aching all over his body, despite the bone-deep pain that radiated all over. Despite the insufferable ache in his chest that filtered in from the other side of the bond.
He lay there for a moment, taking in his surroundings, and finally deduced that he was, in fact, alone. With that, he allowed cooling magic to overwhelm his body. It found every tear, every fracture, and with a few ice blue sparks, the injuries faded to nothing. There was a faint ache lingering as he stood, but the real pain had been taken care of - all except the harsh pangs in his chest. No amount of magic could soothe that. He would just have to put up with it, it seemed, until Eren had calmed down.
Eren . . . just what the hell was he?
His eyes were the sea, and his wings - his wings were the foam. They were positively breathtaking. He had never seen wings like that before. Eren had to know he was special, right? And yet the way he had reacted, the way Grisha had spoken about him as if he was not there, the distress and extreme cruelty at his lost innocence . . . and that part was Levi's fault.
No. It was not his fault. He had to tell himself that a few times, remind himself of his innocence; he did it to save Eren's life, and would not have even touched the kid if it were not for the fact that he was being chased by the most dangerous hunter on the surface. If Kenny had just fucked off and let them be -
Kenny.
Why was Kenny after him? Of course, the sick bastard was always after those unsuspecting pure angels that had broken the rules and ventured out into the cruel unknown, but rarely did he bother Levi in his pursuits. They had an agreement. He and Kenny went a long way back, and wherever Levi was, Kenny would not follow. It was the only way to keep the unstable peace between them after the incident.
And yet, despite that, he had dared to follow Levi after he had stolen his prey. He had risked the possibility of a fight and toed the line between what an acceptable interaction was. He had even been somewhat amicable when asking for Eren back. Why did he want him so badly?
Setting his jaw, Levi made his way to Kenny's hideout, determined to find the truth.
.-.-.-.-.
"It's . . . it's permanent?"
Armin's touch was delicate, careful, but Eren still flinched away as if he had been struck when those gentle fingers grazed the black feathers at the base of his wings, and Armin let out a small yelp at the same time. In a flash of light, the feathery appendages vanished, as Eren shook his head wildly. His friend seemed startled, and Mikasa made a noise of distress, reaching out to thread her fingers through his soft hair, soothing him as best as she could.
"I'm sorry," Armin managed, and Eren's tense muscles seemed to relax a little at Mikasa's attempts. "Does it hurt?"
Eren hesitated, cracking his eyes open. He wouldn't look at any of them. "It felt like . . . like a bolt of lightning."
Armin nodded. His eyes were stretched wide in comparison. He looked down at his fingertips, which were tinted red and tingling as if they were numb. "I felt it, too."
His gaze fell on the puncture marks on Eren's neck. They sat in one of the peaceful grassy fields of the Lord's domain, a tree sheltering them from the sun overhead. Usually bustling with activity, today, it was fairly isolated. Every place Eren went wound up otherwise empty, it seemed. Everyone talked, but nobody directly to him; they spoke in hushed whispers when he passed and refused to meet his gaze when he looked questioningly at them. Every angel in Heaven knew.
It was inescapable. Not only an angel that had sinned, but one that had been tainted, and somehow could not be cured. It had never happened before, as far as anyone knew.
"What's going to happen to you?" Armin asked shakily. Eren shook his head again.
"Father says if I stay up here and never see Levi again, everything will be all right," he said dully, folding his arms across his chest to grip his biceps, holding himself in an attempt at self-soothing. "I can . . . I can never see the surface again."
"I don't like this," Mikasa finally spoke up. Both of the boys looked at her, confused. Sure, none of them liked the situation. Not a single of their kind liked the situation. But then she added, "Why Eren? What's so special about him?"
It was a surprise to hear Mikasa say something like that about Eren, as she had always been so close to him, designated to care for him at a young age. If anything, she found Eren extremely special - she sure treated him like it. She was right, though. What was so special about him?
"He won't tell me," Eren answered. It was something they expected to hear in a stubborn tone, indignant even, but it came out in an apathetic monotone. "And if He doesn't want us to know, we aren't going to find out."
Eren was never the kind to give up. The Eren they knew would have been the first to march right up to the Heavenly Father and demand answers, to tear the heavens apart searching for the truth. Eren was a stubborn kid with an attitude that was unusual and unmatched by those of his peers' (though Jean was a close second). Eren was brash and adventurous and curious enough to sneak down to the earth just because he felt like it.
There was no sign of that angel now. Mikasa drew him into her arms, and Armin joined the hug instinctively. They were all scared, confused, and Eren . . . he just wasn't the same.
"Why wouldn't He want us to know?" Mikasa asked, a rhetorical question. There was no answer. There was never an answer when it came to the Heavenly Father, only faith. Faith that he was correct, that he was doing what was best.
Before, they were certain He was. They did not even think twice about it. They never questioned His judgment, never thought He could be anything but righteous and just. But after his deflection of questions, after his harsh treatment without explanation, after the uncharacteristic anger and abuse, they were all riddled with doubt. They had trusted so blindly before. Now, they were not so sure of his justness.
A soft clearing of a throat announced the presence of another, and the trio gently separated from each other. A tall blond man, his purple tinted wings folded neatly behind him, stood before them, an amicable smile on his face. Each of them dipped their heads respectfully to the archangel, an instinctual response. It was second nature.
"You seem down, Eren," Erwin said.
To their surprise, he knelt in the grass next to them, disregarding the white robe he donned. Erwin was an odd sort; he was an archangel of the highest respect, highly regarded by his fellow angel, had lived through war upon war and seen everything the worlds had to offer, and yet he was unlike the others. There was the cold distance in hid eyes that war brought to the warrior angels, but he was friendly, intelligent, always calm and collected.
His eyes landed on the mark on Eren's neck, but unlike they expected, his smile didn't waver. Instead, Erwin looked the younger angel in the eyes, voice controlled. "It's hard on you, isn't it?"
Eren searched for Mikasa's hand and held it tightly, anxiety rising in his chest, and she gave him a questioning look. He could not muster speech. Even if he could speak, he feared what he might say. That he hated this. That the mark ached. That everything ached. That he felt incomplete. That he . . . that he missed him. Missed Levi. He could not fathom it, and he knew it was heretical, so he did not dare say it.
Instead, he nodded. Erwin mirrored the movement.
"It is . . . unfortunate that it must be this way," he said. He sounded like he was speaking carefully. Armin straightened, and Eren found he was curious as to what he had noticed. Armin was always much more perceptive than he was.
"Sir, do you - do you know something about it?" Armin asked, baby blues wide and questioning. It was Mikasa's turn to tighten her grip. This was thin ice they were walking on.
Erwin cocked his head, eyes narrowing in what was either suspicion or thoughtfulness, perhaps both. After a moment of silence, he answered, "I'm afraid not," and he sounded truthful. At Armin's disappointment, he added, quietly, "However, there may be a place where you can get answers."
It was like a hush fell over the field. The breeze that moved the branches of the tree and the colorful wildflowers around them faded until the air was still. As one, the trio's eyes narrowed, and Erwin looked at each of them in turn. He looked up at the sturdy oak that shaded them, as if he was contemplating something, and after another silence, spoke once more.
"If, for some reason, Eren were to go to the Hall of Scriptures alone," he said carefully, "and, for whatever purpose, tell the bookkeeper that I sent him, they just might be able to help him."
With that, he stood, dusting dirt from his knees and smiling once more at them. Eren stared at him, trying to decipher that expression, trying to figure out what was going on in the archangel's head. He found nothing, and Erwin left them then, alone and confused under the tree, nobody else in sight.
He lay there for a moment, taking in his surroundings, and finally deduced that he was, in fact, alone. With that, he allowed cooling magic to overwhelm his body. It found every tear, every fracture, and with a few ice blue sparks, the injuries faded to nothing. There was a faint ache lingering as he stood, but the real pain had been taken care of - all except the harsh pangs in his chest. No amount of magic could soothe that. He would just have to put up with it, it seemed, until Eren had calmed down.
Eren . . . just what the hell was he?
His eyes were the sea, and his wings - his wings were the foam. They were positively breathtaking. He had never seen wings like that before. Eren had to know he was special, right? And yet the way he had reacted, the way Grisha had spoken about him as if he was not there, the distress and extreme cruelty at his lost innocence . . . and that part was Levi's fault.
No. It was not his fault. He had to tell himself that a few times, remind himself of his innocence; he did it to save Eren's life, and would not have even touched the kid if it were not for the fact that he was being chased by the most dangerous hunter on the surface. If Kenny had just fucked off and let them be -
Kenny.
Why was Kenny after him? Of course, the sick bastard was always after those unsuspecting pure angels that had broken the rules and ventured out into the cruel unknown, but rarely did he bother Levi in his pursuits. They had an agreement. He and Kenny went a long way back, and wherever Levi was, Kenny would not follow. It was the only way to keep the unstable peace between them after the incident.
And yet, despite that, he had dared to follow Levi after he had stolen his prey. He had risked the possibility of a fight and toed the line between what an acceptable interaction was. He had even been somewhat amicable when asking for Eren back. Why did he want him so badly?
Setting his jaw, Levi made his way to Kenny's hideout, determined to find the truth.
.-.-.-.-.
"It's . . . it's permanent?"
Armin's touch was delicate, careful, but Eren still flinched away as if he had been struck when those gentle fingers grazed the black feathers at the base of his wings, and Armin let out a small yelp at the same time. In a flash of light, the feathery appendages vanished, as Eren shook his head wildly. His friend seemed startled, and Mikasa made a noise of distress, reaching out to thread her fingers through his soft hair, soothing him as best as she could.
"I'm sorry," Armin managed, and Eren's tense muscles seemed to relax a little at Mikasa's attempts. "Does it hurt?"
Eren hesitated, cracking his eyes open. He wouldn't look at any of them. "It felt like . . . like a bolt of lightning."
Armin nodded. His eyes were stretched wide in comparison. He looked down at his fingertips, which were tinted red and tingling as if they were numb. "I felt it, too."
His gaze fell on the puncture marks on Eren's neck. They sat in one of the peaceful grassy fields of the Lord's domain, a tree sheltering them from the sun overhead. Usually bustling with activity, today, it was fairly isolated. Every place Eren went wound up otherwise empty, it seemed. Everyone talked, but nobody directly to him; they spoke in hushed whispers when he passed and refused to meet his gaze when he looked questioningly at them. Every angel in Heaven knew.
It was inescapable. Not only an angel that had sinned, but one that had been tainted, and somehow could not be cured. It had never happened before, as far as anyone knew.
"What's going to happen to you?" Armin asked shakily. Eren shook his head again.
"Father says if I stay up here and never see Levi again, everything will be all right," he said dully, folding his arms across his chest to grip his biceps, holding himself in an attempt at self-soothing. "I can . . . I can never see the surface again."
"I don't like this," Mikasa finally spoke up. Both of the boys looked at her, confused. Sure, none of them liked the situation. Not a single of their kind liked the situation. But then she added, "Why Eren? What's so special about him?"
It was a surprise to hear Mikasa say something like that about Eren, as she had always been so close to him, designated to care for him at a young age. If anything, she found Eren extremely special - she sure treated him like it. She was right, though. What was so special about him?
"He won't tell me," Eren answered. It was something they expected to hear in a stubborn tone, indignant even, but it came out in an apathetic monotone. "And if He doesn't want us to know, we aren't going to find out."
Eren was never the kind to give up. The Eren they knew would have been the first to march right up to the Heavenly Father and demand answers, to tear the heavens apart searching for the truth. Eren was a stubborn kid with an attitude that was unusual and unmatched by those of his peers' (though Jean was a close second). Eren was brash and adventurous and curious enough to sneak down to the earth just because he felt like it.
There was no sign of that angel now. Mikasa drew him into her arms, and Armin joined the hug instinctively. They were all scared, confused, and Eren . . . he just wasn't the same.
"Why wouldn't He want us to know?" Mikasa asked, a rhetorical question. There was no answer. There was never an answer when it came to the Heavenly Father, only faith. Faith that he was correct, that he was doing what was best.
Before, they were certain He was. They did not even think twice about it. They never questioned His judgment, never thought He could be anything but righteous and just. But after his deflection of questions, after his harsh treatment without explanation, after the uncharacteristic anger and abuse, they were all riddled with doubt. They had trusted so blindly before. Now, they were not so sure of his justness.
A soft clearing of a throat announced the presence of another, and the trio gently separated from each other. A tall blond man, his purple tinted wings folded neatly behind him, stood before them, an amicable smile on his face. Each of them dipped their heads respectfully to the archangel, an instinctual response. It was second nature.
"You seem down, Eren," Erwin said.
To their surprise, he knelt in the grass next to them, disregarding the white robe he donned. Erwin was an odd sort; he was an archangel of the highest respect, highly regarded by his fellow angel, had lived through war upon war and seen everything the worlds had to offer, and yet he was unlike the others. There was the cold distance in hid eyes that war brought to the warrior angels, but he was friendly, intelligent, always calm and collected.
His eyes landed on the mark on Eren's neck, but unlike they expected, his smile didn't waver. Instead, Erwin looked the younger angel in the eyes, voice controlled. "It's hard on you, isn't it?"
Eren searched for Mikasa's hand and held it tightly, anxiety rising in his chest, and she gave him a questioning look. He could not muster speech. Even if he could speak, he feared what he might say. That he hated this. That the mark ached. That everything ached. That he felt incomplete. That he . . . that he missed him. Missed Levi. He could not fathom it, and he knew it was heretical, so he did not dare say it.
Instead, he nodded. Erwin mirrored the movement.
"It is . . . unfortunate that it must be this way," he said. He sounded like he was speaking carefully. Armin straightened, and Eren found he was curious as to what he had noticed. Armin was always much more perceptive than he was.
"Sir, do you - do you know something about it?" Armin asked, baby blues wide and questioning. It was Mikasa's turn to tighten her grip. This was thin ice they were walking on.
Erwin cocked his head, eyes narrowing in what was either suspicion or thoughtfulness, perhaps both. After a moment of silence, he answered, "I'm afraid not," and he sounded truthful. At Armin's disappointment, he added, quietly, "However, there may be a place where you can get answers."
It was like a hush fell over the field. The breeze that moved the branches of the tree and the colorful wildflowers around them faded until the air was still. As one, the trio's eyes narrowed, and Erwin looked at each of them in turn. He looked up at the sturdy oak that shaded them, as if he was contemplating something, and after another silence, spoke once more.
"If, for some reason, Eren were to go to the Hall of Scriptures alone," he said carefully, "and, for whatever purpose, tell the bookkeeper that I sent him, they just might be able to help him."
With that, he stood, dusting dirt from his knees and smiling once more at them. Eren stared at him, trying to decipher that expression, trying to figure out what was going on in the archangel's head. He found nothing, and Erwin left them then, alone and confused under the tree, nobody else in sight.
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