aoz
WOLF OF THE BROKEN WALL
CHAPTER 1: THE STRANGER AMONG THEM
The early morning sun filtered through a haze of dust motes as the newly graduated members of the 104th Cadet Corps stood at rigid attention. Their faces were a mixture of pride and apprehension—pride in having survived the brutal training that had claimed so many of their comrades, and apprehension about what was to come. The Scout Regiment was not known for its high survival rate.
Captain Levi Ackerman paced before them, his diminutive stature belying the weight of his presence. His cold, steel-gray eyes scanned the formation with clinical detachment, lingering occasionally on a face that caught his interest.
"Listen closely," he began, his voice deceptively soft yet carrying to the furthest corners of the courtyard. "You've graduated. That means precisely nothing out here." He paused, letting his words sink in. "The real training—the kind that keeps you alive—begins now."
A hushed murmur rippled through the ranks before dying away under Levi's withering glare.
"Commander Erwin has made a decision," he continued. "One that concerns all of you, but especially you, Yeager." His gaze fixed on Eren, who stiffened visibly. "You're being assigned a... guardian."
Eren's brow furrowed in confusion. Beside him, Mikasa tensed almost imperceptibly, her dark eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean, a guardian?" Eren asked, forgetting protocol in his surprise.
Levi's expression remained unchanged. "Exactly what it sounds like. Someone to watch over you. To ensure you don't become a liability."
"I don't need a babysitter," Eren protested, his temper flaring.
"This isn't a negotiation, Yeager," Levi cut him off. "The decision has been made." He turned slightly, addressing someone behind him. "You can come out now."
A collective intake of breath swept through the formation as a figure emerged from the shadows of the nearby building. He moved with fluid, predatory grace—every step deliberate yet seemingly effortless. He was tall, towering over Levi and most of the cadets, with a physique that spoke of devastating power contained within lean muscle.
But it was his appearance that caused the most shock. His skin was a shade none of them had ever seen before—a rich, milk chocolate brown that seemed to glow with an inner light, radiating health and vitality. His hair was styled in tight, high-tapered locs with faint silver streaks running through them, giving him an otherworldly appearance. And his eyes... his eyes burned like molten gold, piercing and magnetic.
Whispers erupted across the formation.
"What is he...?" "His skin..." "Look at his eyes..."
"Silence!" Levi barked, and the whispers died instantly. "This is Zaire Kael Oduya. He's been with the Scout Regiment for six years. He will be joining your squad effective immediately."
Zaire surveyed the cadets with lazy confidence, that molten gaze taking in their reactions with barely concealed amusement. A slight smirk played at the corners of his full lips, revealing perfect white teeth against his dark skin.
"Zaire," Levi continued, "will observe your training and participate in your missions. You will treat him with the same respect you would afford any superior officer." He paused, his eyes scanning the ranks. "Any questions?"
The silence was deafening. No one dared to voice the questions racing through their minds—questions about this strange, beautiful being who looked like no human they had ever encountered.
"Good," Levi nodded. "Dismissed. Except for you, Yeager, Ackerman, and Arlert. You three stay."
As the formation broke, the cadets dispersed, but not without casting backward glances at Zaire, who stood with casual grace beside Captain Levi, that small, knowing smirk still playing on his lips.
When only Eren, Mikasa, and Armin remained, Levi gestured for Zaire to step forward.
"Let's be perfectly clear," Levi said, his voice low and serious. "Zaire isn't here for your comfort or companionship. He's here because you, Yeager, represent a significant risk. A risk we need to manage."
Eren bristled. "I'm not a risk. I'm an asset."
Zaire's laugh was unexpected—a rich, melodious sound that seemed at odds with his dangerous appearance. "An asset that could turn into a fifteen-meter monster at any moment," he said, his voice deep and smooth with an accent none of them had ever heard before. "Don't take it personally, kid. I'm just insurance."
"Insurance?" Armin asked, his intelligent blue eyes studying Zaire with fascination. "What do you mean?"
Zaire's golden gaze shifted to Armin, and his smirk widened slightly. "Smart one, aren't you? Yes, insurance. If your friend here loses control..." He made a vague gesture with one hand, the movement so quick it was almost a blur, "I step in."
"You?" Eren couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice. "Against a Titan? Without ODM gear?" He glanced pointedly at Zaire's lack of equipment.
Zaire's expression didn't change, but something dangerous flickered in those golden eyes. "You have a lot to learn, Eren Yeager," he said softly. "About Titans. About the world. About what's really out there." He stepped closer, and Eren had to fight the urge to back away. "I don't need your fancy gear. I don't need your blades. All I need..." he tapped his temple with one long finger, "is right here."
Mikasa moved almost imperceptibly, positioning herself between Eren and Zaire. Her eyes, usually so calm and controlled, flashed with protective instinct.
Zaire noticed the movement and turned that burning gaze on her. For a long moment, they stared at each other, a silent communication passing between them. Then, unexpectedly, Zaire's smirk softened into something closer to genuine appreciation.
"The famous Mikasa Ackerman," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Your reputation precedes you. Top of your class. Exemplary in all disciplines." His golden eyes swept over her appraisingly. "But still holding back. Interesting."
Mikasa didn't respond, but her posture remained defensive.
"That's enough," Levi interjected. "Zaire, you have your orders. Observe, protect, intervene only if necessary. Do not engage unless the situation warrants it."
Zaire broke his gaze from Mikasa and turned back to Levi with a casual salute. "Whatever you say, Captain."
Levi's eyes narrowed slightly, as if detecting the faint mockery in Zaire's tone, but he let it pass. "Report to me daily. And try not to frighten the recruits too much. We need them functional."
With that, Levi turned and walked away, leaving the four young people in an uncomfortable silence.
After a moment, Zaire stretched lazily, the movement highlighting the powerful muscles beneath his uniform. "Well, this should be interesting," he remarked to no one in particular. "I'll be seeing you three around." He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Yeager? Try not to turn into a Titan tonight. I was hoping to get some sleep."
With that parting shot, he sauntered away, leaving Eren seething, Mikasa watchful, and Armin deeply thoughtful.
"Who does he think he is?" Eren muttered once Zaire was out of earshot. "And what is he? Have either of you ever seen anyone who looks like that?"
Mikasa shook her head slightly, her eyes still following Zaire's retreating figure. "No. Never."
"His skin, his eyes..." Armin mused. "I've read about distant lands beyond the sea where people look different from us, but I always thought those were just stories."
"Well, I don't care what he looks like," Eren declared. "If he thinks I need a babysitter, he's going to be disappointed."
Mikasa finally turned her attention back to Eren. "Be careful, Eren," she said softly. "There's something... different about him. Something dangerous."
"More dangerous than Titans?" Eren scoffed.
Mikasa's expression remained serious. "Maybe. We don't know what he is or what he can do."
"Well, I intend to find out," Armin said, his blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Think about it—if he's been with the Scout Regiment for six years, why haven't we ever heard of him? Why keep him hidden? There's a mystery here, and I want to solve it."
Eren's expression darkened. "Just as long as he stays out of my way."
But as they made their way back to the barracks, none of them could shake the feeling that their world had just shifted in some fundamental way—that the appearance of Zaire Kael Oduya marked the beginning of something bigger than any of them could imagine.
Word spread quickly throughout the cadet corps. By nightfall, the mess hall buzzed with wild speculation about the mysterious newcomer. Zaire sat alone at a corner table, seemingly oblivious to the whispers and stares directed his way as he calmly ate his meal.
Connie leaned across the table, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I heard he was found outside the walls. Alone. Surrounded by dead Titans."
"That's ridiculous," Jean scoffed, though his eyes kept darting toward Zaire's solitary figure. "No one survives outside the walls alone."
"Well, how do you explain him, then?" Connie challenged. "Have you ever seen anyone who looks like that? With skin that color? With eyes like... like fire?"
Sasha, mouth full of bread, nodded enthusiastically. "My father used to tell stories about people from distant lands. People with skin dark as wood and hair like clouds. I always thought they were just tales to scare children."
"He doesn't look scary to me," Krista Lenz—or rather, Historia Reiss—remarked quietly, her blue eyes fixed on Zaire with undisguised curiosity. "He looks... different, but not frightening."
Ymir, sitting protectively close to Krista, snorted. "Don't be naive. Different is dangerous in this world. And that one..." she jerked her chin toward Zaire, "is more different than most."
"I wonder what he can do," Armin mused, his intelligent gaze analytical as he studied Zaire from across the room. "Captain Levi said he's been with the Scouts for six years, but none of us have ever heard of him. Why keep him hidden unless he has some special ability?"
"Maybe he's like Eren," Connie suggested, earning a glare from Mikasa.
"He's nothing like Eren," she said firmly.
Eren, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "He thinks he's my keeper. My 'guardian,' whatever that means." His voice dripped with resentment. "As if I need someone to watch over me like a child."
"Maybe it's not about you needing protection," Reiner interjected, his broad face serious. "Maybe it's about protecting others from you."
A tense silence fell over the table. Eren's gaze hardened, but before he could respond, the atmosphere shifted as Zaire rose from his table and began walking directly toward them.
Every conversation in the mess hall died as he approached, his movements fluid and predatory. He stopped at their table, golden eyes sweeping over each face before settling on Eren.
"Yeager," he said, his voice a smooth, deep rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air. "A word."
It wasn't a request.
Eren hesitated, then stood, ignoring Mikasa's concerned glance. "What is it?"
Zaire's lips curved into that now-familiar smirk. "Not here. Outside."
With that, he turned and walked away, clearly expecting Eren to follow.
After a moment's hesitation, Eren did, aware of the eyes on his back as he left the mess hall in Zaire's wake.
Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, stars scattered across the vast sky above the walls that encircled their world. Zaire stood with his back to Eren, seemingly contemplating the heavens.
"What do you want?" Eren demanded, his patience wearing thin.
Zaire turned, and in the moonlight, his eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire. "To understand you," he said simply.
"Understand me?" Eren repeated, confused.
"Yes." Zaire began to circle Eren slowly, like a predator sizing up potential prey. "You're an anomaly, Eren Yeager. A human who can become a Titan. I want to know how that feels. What it's like inside that massive body. What drives you."
Eren turned to keep Zaire in his sight, uncomfortable with having the strange man at his back. "Why do you care?"
Zaire stopped circling and faced Eren directly. "Because I need to know if you're a threat or an opportunity."
"I'm neither," Eren shot back. "I'm a soldier fighting for humanity's freedom."
Zaire's laugh was sudden and genuine, startling Eren. "Freedom," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "You have no idea what freedom really is, kid. None of you do. Not inside these walls."
"And you do?" Eren challenged.
Something flickered in those golden eyes—a memory, perhaps, or a secret. "I did, once," Zaire said quietly. "Before I woke up here."
"What does that mean?" Eren pressed, intrigued despite his wariness. "Where did you come from? What are you?"
Zaire's smirk returned, but it seemed more melancholy than mocking. "Questions without answers, Yeager. At least, not yet." He stepped closer, and Eren had to force himself not to back away. "But I'll tell you this much: I'm here to make sure your power serves humanity, not destroys it. Because the fire that burns inside you?" He tapped Eren's chest lightly, the touch unexpected. "It can warm a home or burn it to the ground. And it's my job to make sure it does the former, not the latter."
Eren knocked Zaire's hand away, annoyed at the familiarity. "I don't need your guidance. I know what I'm fighting for."
"Do you?" Zaire's golden gaze was penetrating, seeming to see through Eren's bravado to the doubt beneath. "Do you really understand what's at stake here? What lies beyond these walls? Who the real enemy is?"
Eren faltered, caught off guard by the questions. "The enemy is the Titans. They've trapped us here, killed countless people—"
"The Titans are a symptom," Zaire interrupted, his voice dropping lower. "Not the disease."
Before Eren could question him further, Zaire's demeanor changed abruptly, the intensity vanishing behind that casual smirk. "But that's a conversation for another day. For now, just remember this: I'm watching you, Eren Yeager. Not because I think you'll fail, but because I need to know if you're strong enough to succeed when the real battle begins."
With that cryptic statement, Zaire turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as silently as a ghost, leaving Eren standing alone with more questions than answers.
CHAPTER 2: GOLDEN EYES, HIDDEN TRUTHS
Dawn broke over the training grounds, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The members of the 104th Cadet Corps had been instructed to assemble early for special combat training, and they now stood in loose formation, stifling yawns and rubbing sleep from their eyes.
Mikasa Ackerman stood slightly apart, her posture perfect despite the early hour. Her dark eyes scanned the grounds, alert and watchful. She had slept poorly, her dreams haunted by golden eyes and cryptic warnings.
"Looking for someone?"
The voice behind her made her start slightly—a reaction she immediately chastised herself for. She was never caught off guard.
Turning, she found Zaire standing just a few paces away, regarding her with those unnervingly beautiful golden eyes. How had he approached so silently? Even with her heightened senses, she hadn't detected his presence until he spoke.
"No," she replied evenly, unwilling to admit that she had indeed been watching for him.
Zaire's smirk indicated he didn't believe her for a second. "You're protective of Eren," he observed, moving to stand beside her. "Family?"
"Adopted," Mikasa answered curtly, unsure why she was sharing even that much information.
Zaire nodded as if this confirmed something he already knew. "And more than capable of defending him, from what I hear. Top of your class in all combat disciplines. Exceptional with ODM gear. A prodigy."
Mikasa said nothing, uncomfortable with both the praise and the scrutiny.
"And yet," Zaire continued, his voice dropping lower, "you're still holding back."
Her head whipped around, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"
Zaire's golden gaze was piercing, seeing through her carefully constructed defenses. "You know exactly what I mean, Mikasa Ackerman. You've never pushed yourself to your limits. Never discovered what you're truly capable of." He leaned slightly closer, his voice almost a whisper. "Because you're afraid of what you might find."
Mikasa stepped back, unsettled by his insight and his proximity. "You don't know anything about me."
"Don't I?" That infuriating smirk again. "I know more than you think. About your strength. Your potential." His eyes flicked to the scar on her cheek, then back to her eyes. "Your past."
Mikasa's hand moved instinctively to her scar, a gesture she immediately regretted when she saw the satisfaction in Zaire's eyes.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice low and intense. "What are you?"
Zaire's smirk faded, replaced by an expression that was almost... sad. "I'm like you, Mikasa. A survivor. Someone who has seen the worst of humanity and lived to tell the tale." He glanced around at the assembled cadets, who were starting to take notice of their conversation. "But that's a discussion for another time. Your audience is watching."
Indeed, several cadets were now openly staring at them, fascinated by the sight of their top graduate in what appeared to be an intense conversation with the mysterious newcomer.
"Today's training," Zaire said, raising his voice for all to hear as he stepped into the center of the gathering, "will be different from what you're used to. Today, you learn to fight without your precious gear. Without your blades. With nothing but your bodies and your wits."
Murmurs of confusion swept through the group.
"What good is hand-to-hand combat against Titans?" Jean called out, voicing what many were thinking.
Zaire's golden eyes fixed on Jean, and a dangerous smile played across his full lips. "Who said anything about fighting Titans, Kirstein?" He began to circle the group slowly, his movements reminiscent of a predator stalking prey. "There are threats in this world other than Titans. Threats that walk on two legs, not four. Threats that think, plan, and deceive."
His gaze swept across the cadets, lingering briefly on Annie Leonhart, whose usually impassive face showed a flicker of... was it recognition? Fear? The moment passed too quickly for most to notice.
"Pair up," Zaire commanded. "Show me what you've learned so far."
The cadets hesitated, then began to form pairs. Eren immediately sought out Annie, determined to finally master the techniques she had tried to teach him. Reiner and Bertholdt paired together naturally, while Connie and Sasha formed an unlikely but enthusiastic duo.
Mikasa found herself without a partner, as did Historia, who stood uncertainly at the edge of the group.
"Ackerman," Zaire called, that smirk returning. "You're with me."
A hush fell over the group. Everyone knew Mikasa's reputation as the strongest cadet in their class. The prospect of seeing her matched against the enigmatic Zaire sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd.
Mikasa stepped forward without hesitation, her face a mask of calm determination. Inside, however, her mind raced. There was something about Zaire that set her on edge—a power she could sense but not identify, a danger that called to something primal within her.
They faced each other in the center of the improvised ring. Zaire's stance was casual, almost lazy, while Mikasa adopted a perfect fighting position.
"Don't hold back," Zaire instructed, his golden eyes gleaming. "Show me what the famous Mikasa Ackerman can really do."
Mikasa attacked without warning, a blindingly fast series of strikes aimed at Zaire's vital points. To her shock—and the astonishment of the watching cadets—Zaire dodged each blow with minimal movement, his body seeming to flow like water around her attacks.
"Too predictable," he commented, not even breathing hard. "You're still thinking like a cadet. Like someone trained by the military." He hadn't thrown a single punch yet, merely evaded her increasingly intense assault. "Show me something real, Mikasa. Show me the fighter you were before they put you in that uniform."
The taunt struck a nerve. Mikasa abandoned the formal techniques she had been taught, falling back on the raw, instinctual fighting style she had developed in those desperate moments when she had first awakened her power—when she had killed to save Eren.
Her attacks became faster, more fluid, less predictable. One particularly vicious kick seemed certain to connect with Zaire's ribs—only for him to catch her ankle in mid-air, halting her momentum completely.
Gasps echoed from the watching cadets. No one had ever stopped Mikasa's attacks so effortlessly.
"Better," Zaire acknowledged, still holding her ankle as if it weighed nothing. "But still not your best."
With a twist of his wrist, he sent Mikasa spinning through the air. Most would have crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap, but Mikasa managed to turn the forced momentum into a controlled flip, landing in a crouch several feet away.
She rose slowly, a new respect—and wariness—in her eyes. "Who trained you?" she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it.
Zaire's laugh was unexpected and genuine. "No one you would know," he replied cryptically. Then, without warning, he attacked.
The speed of his movement shocked everyone watching. One moment he was standing relaxed, the next he was a blur of motion. Mikasa barely managed to block the first strike, the impact reverberating through her forearms with stunning force.
She countered with a sweep aimed at his legs, which he jumped over with casual grace. His counterattack was a lightning-fast combination that forced her onto the defensive, retreating step by step as she struggled to block or evade his strikes.
For the first time in her life, Mikasa felt completely outmatched. It wasn't just Zaire's speed or strength, though both were extraordinary. It was the way he moved—as if he could predict her actions before she even decided on them, as if he could read the flow of battle like a book.
A feint to the left, followed by a right cross that slipped past her guard and stopped a hair's breadth from her cheek. Zaire could have landed the blow, they both knew it, but he had pulled back at the last possible moment.
"You're holding back," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Why?"
Before she could respond, he resumed his attack, pushing her harder, forcing her to react without thinking. And something began to change. The world around Mikasa seemed to slow, her senses sharpening, her body moving with increasing speed and precision.
It was happening again—the same rush of power she had felt years ago, and occasionally since, in moments of extreme danger. The power that Levi had hinted might be something more than mere adrenaline.
A punch aimed at Zaire's solar plexus, faster than any she had thrown before. For the first time, she saw surprise flicker in those golden eyes as he barely diverted the blow.
"There it is," he murmured, satisfaction evident in his voice. "The real Mikasa Ackerman."
They traded blows with increasing speed, their movements becoming almost too fast for the watching cadets to follow. It was like a dance—violent, precise, beautiful in its deadly efficiency.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably no more than a minute, Zaire stepped back, raising a hand to signal the end of the match.
"Enough," he said, not even breathing hard despite the intensity of their exchange. "Well done, Ackerman."
Mikasa stood warily, her chest rising and falling with exertion, sweat beading on her forehead. She had never been pushed so far, never had to tap so deeply into her mysterious strength.
The watching cadets erupted in excited chatter. No one had ever seen Mikasa truly challenged before, let alone fought to what appeared to be a draw.
"What was that?" Eren demanded, pushing his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes wide with a mixture of concern and awe. "Mikasa, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied automatically, though her mind was racing with questions.
Zaire's golden eyes held hers for a moment longer, a silent communication passing between them. Then he turned to address the still-murmuring cadets.
"That," he announced, "is what happens when you stop hiding from your own strength." His gaze swept over the group, challenging and intense. "Most of you are still playing at being soldiers. Still holding back. Still afraid of what you might become if you pushed yourselves to your limits."
His eyes lingered briefly on Annie, who stared back with uncharacteristic intensity, then moved to Reiner and Bertholdt, who shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.
"Today, that changes," Zaire continued. "Today, you start becoming what you were meant to be. Not just soldiers. Warriors."
The training that followed was unlike anything the cadets had experienced before. Zaire moved among them, observing their sparring, offering corrections, pushing each of them to find strengths they didn't know they possessed.
With Eren, he was particularly demanding, forcing him to rely on technique rather than the brute force and rage that had always been his default approach. With Historia, he was surprisingly gentle, coaxing out a fierce determination that few had glimpsed beneath her sweet exterior.
But it was Annie who received his most careful attention. As the others practiced in pairs, Zaire pulled her aside for a private conversation that left her paler than usual and unnervingly silent for the remainder of the day.
As twilight descended, Mikasa found herself once again on the roof of the barracks, seeking solitude to process the day's events. Her body ached from the intensity of the training, but it was her mind that truly needed space to come to terms with what had happened.
She had always known she was different—stronger, faster, more skilled than the others. But today, spurred by Zaire's relentless pressure, she had touched something deeper within herself, something powerful and a little frightening.
"Beautiful view."
She didn't turn at the sound of Zaire's voice behind her. Somehow, she had known he would find her here.
"What did you do to me today?" she asked quietly as he moved to stand beside her.
Zaire glanced down at her, those golden eyes reflecting the dying light. "I didn't do anything to you, Mikasa. I merely showed you what was already there."
"That power..." she began, unsure how to articulate what she had experienced.
"Is yours," Zaire finished for her. "It always has been. Since the day you first awakened it."
Mikasa finally turned to face him fully. "How do you know about that? I've never told anyone, not even Eren."
Zaire's expression softened, the perpetual smirk giving way to something more genuine. "Because I recognize it. The way it feels. The way it changes you." He looked out over the walls, toward the world beyond. "We're not so different, you and I. Both forged in blood and pain. Both carrying power others can't understand."
"But I'm nothing like you," Mikasa protested, though with less conviction than she might have expected. "You're... whatever you are. I'm just a soldier."
Zaire's laugh was soft and surprisingly kind. "You're no more 'just a soldier' than I am 'just a man,' Mikasa Ackerman. You are something rare. Something special." He turned those burning eyes back to her. "And it terrifies you."
The accusation hit too close to home. Mikasa looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "What do you want from me?"
"To help you," Zaire replied simply. "To show you how to use what you've been given. Because the day is coming when Eren will need more than your devotion. He'll need your strength—all of it."
Mikasa's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about Eren? About what's coming?"
Zaire's expression turned enigmatic once more. "More than I should. Less than I need to." He stretched, the movement accentuating his powerful physique. "Get some rest, Mikasa. Tomorrow will be even more demanding than today."
As he turned to leave, Mikasa called after him, "You never answered my question. What are you?"
Zaire paused, looking back over his shoulder with that now-familiar smirk. "When you figure it out, let me know. I've been wondering the same thing for six years."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Mikasa alone with her thoughts and the growing certainty that their world was about to change in ways none of them could predict.
CHAPTER 3: WHISPERS IN THE DARK
Historia Reiss—still known to her comrades as Krista Lenz—had perfected the art of invisibility. Not physical invisibility, of course, but the subtle skill of being present yet unseen, of being noticed yet not truly seen. She floated through the world behind a carefully constructed mask of sweetness and light, hiding the darker truths that defined her existence.
But as she sat alone in the corner of the mess hall, picking at her breakfast, she felt seen for the first time. And it terrified her.
Across the room, those golden eyes watched her. Not with the fawning admiration she received from many of the male cadets, nor with the protective possessiveness that characterized Ymir's attention. No, Zaire Kael Oduya watched her with recognition. As if he could see straight through her "Krista" persona to the Historia beneath.
She looked away quickly, her heart racing. It was impossible. No one knew her true identity except for a select few in the military high command. She had buried Historia Reiss so deeply that sometimes even she forgot who she really was.
"You shouldn't stare," Ymir murmured, sliding onto the bench beside her. "People might get the wrong idea."
Historia forced a smile, falling easily into her Krista persona. "I don't know what you mean."
Ymir's eyes, sharp and knowing, darted to where Zaire sat alone. "Sure you do. Just like everyone else, you're fascinated by the exotic newcomer." Her voice held a hint of something—jealousy, perhaps? "Can't say I blame you. He is beautiful, in a strange way."
"I wasn't—"
"Save it," Ymir cut her off, though not unkindly. "Just be careful around him, Krista. There's something not right about him. Something... wrong."
Historia glanced back at Zaire, only to find him gone. She scanned the room, a peculiar anxiety rising in her chest, and nearly jumped when a voice spoke directly behind her.
"Mind if I join you ladies?"
Zaire stood there, tray in hand, that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. Up close, the richness of his skin tone was even more striking—like polished mahogany, warm and vibrant with life.
"Actually, we were just leaving," Ymir said coolly, rising from her seat and pulling at Historia's arm.
"No, please," Zaire said, his golden eyes fixed on Historia. "Stay. I'd like to get to know my new comrades better."
Something in his tone made Ymir hesitate. It wasn't quite a command, but it held an authority that was difficult to dismiss. With visible reluctance, she sat back down, her body language tense and defensive.
Zaire settled across from them, his movements fluid and graceful despite his size. "Ymir and Krista, right?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"That's right," Historia replied, her voice pitched in Krista's sweet, helpful register. "And you're Zaire. It's nice to meet you properly."
Zaire's smirk widened as he took a bite of his bread. "Is it?" he asked after swallowing. "Nice to meet me, I mean." His golden eyes held hers. "Or would you prefer I kept my distance, Your Highness?"
Historia's blood ran cold. The title was spoken so casually, yet it threatened to unravel everything. Beside her, Ymir tensed, her hand moving subtly to where a knife would be, if they were allowed weapons in the mess hall.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Historia managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No?" Zaire's expression was one of exaggerated innocence. "My mistake. Must have confused you with someone else." He took another bite, watching her
reaction. "Then again, we all wear masks, don't we? Some more convincing than others."
Historia's breath caught in her throat, but before she could respond, Ymir interjected.
"You talk too much for someone who's supposed to be observing," she said sharply. "What's your game, really?"
Zaire's attention shifted to Ymir, his golden eyes studying her with the same unnerving intensity. "No game. Just curiosity." His voice dropped lower. "About the secrets people keep. The histories they try to hide."
Ymir's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Everyone has secrets."
"Indeed," Zaire agreed, his smirk returning. "And yours are particularly... ancient, wouldn't you say?"
The color drained from Ymir's face. Like Historia, she felt suddenly exposed, as if this strange man with golden eyes could see through the carefully constructed walls she had built around her past.
"We really should go," Historia said quickly, standing up. "Training will start soon."
Zaire didn't try to stop them this time, merely inclining his head slightly. "Until next time, then." His eyes met Historia's one last time. "And there will be a next time... Krista."
The emphasis he placed on her false name sent shivers down Historia's spine as she hurried away, Ymir close at her side.
"What was that?" Ymir hissed once they were out of earshot. "What does he know?"
Historia shook her head, her mind racing. "I don't know. But he knows something. About both of us, I think."
Ymir cursed under her breath. "We need to be careful around him. Very careful."
Historia nodded, but couldn't shake the strange, contradictory feelings swirling within her. Fear, certainly—fear of exposure, of her carefully constructed world collapsing. But also... relief? The prospect of being truly seen, of not having to maintain the "Krista" facade, held an appeal she was reluctant to admit even to herself.
And beneath it all, a flicker of something else. Something she had never experienced before. A warm, unsettling awareness of Zaire's physical presence—the golden glow of his eyes, the rich warmth of his skin, the graceful power in his movements.
It was dangerous. He was dangerous. But she couldn't deny the pull she felt toward him, like a moth to a flame, knowing it might consume her but drawn inexorably closer nonetheless.
The week's training progressed with increasing intensity. Under Zaire's guidance, the cadets pushed themselves harder than ever before, discovering capacities they hadn't known they possessed. Even the most skeptical among them had to admit that his methods, unconventional as they were, produced results.
For Mikasa, the days had taken on a new rhythm. Each morning, before the others awoke, she would meet Zaire on the training grounds for private combat sessions. He pushed her relentlessly, forcing her to tap into the mysterious power that flowed through her Ackerman blood.
"Again," he commanded, circling her as she picked herself up from the dirt for what felt like the hundredth time. "Faster this time. Don't think. Feel."
Mikasa wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, her dark eyes fixed on his golden ones. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, not for the first time. "Why me?"
Zaire's expression softened slightly. "Because you're like me. Different. Special." He moved suddenly, a lightning-fast strike that Mikasa barely managed to block. "And because you'll need every ounce of that specialness for what's coming."
"What is coming?" Mikasa demanded, countering with a series of rapid attacks that Zaire evaded with fluid grace. "You keep saying that, but you never explain."
Zaire caught her wrist mid-strike, using her momentum to pull her close—so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint, unfamiliar spice of his skin. "War," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "Not just against Titans. Against our own kind."
Mikasa tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. "What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, Zaire released her suddenly and stepped back. "That's enough for today. You're improving." A rare, genuine smile curved his full lips. "Faster than I expected, actually."
Mikasa rubbed her wrist, oddly unsettled by both his closeness and the abrupt distance he had put between them. "You never give straight answers."
"Straight answers are for simple questions," Zaire replied, gathering his things. "And nothing about our situation is simple, Mikasa Ackerman." He paused, looking at her with an intensity that made her heart beat faster. "But if you really want to know more... meet me tonight. On the roof. After lights out."
With that, he walked away, leaving Mikasa staring after him, torn between suspicion and an increasingly undeniable curiosity—not just about what he knew, but about who he was. What he was.
The afternoon found Annie Leonhart alone in the forest clearing where they sometimes practiced hand-to-hand combat. She moved through a series of forms with mechanical precision, her face a mask of concentration—or perhaps a mask hiding something deeper.
"Your technique is flawless," a familiar deep voice observed from the edge of the clearing. "But there's no heart in it."
Annie didn't stop her movements, didn't even look at Zaire as he approached. "Not everyone fights with their heart," she replied coldly.
"True," Zaire conceded, stepping into the clearing. "Some fight with their minds. Their fear. Their hate." He moved to stand directly in her path, forcing her to stop or collide with him. "What do you fight with, Annie Leonhart?"
Annie met his golden gaze unflinchingly. "Necessity."
Zaire's smirk appeared, though it didn't reach his eyes. "An honest answer. I appreciate that." He began to circle her slowly, like a predator. "You're not like the others. You know things they don't. You've seen things they can't imagine."
"You don't know anything about me," Annie said, the words mechanical, rehearsed.
"No?" Zaire stopped directly behind her, so close she could feel his presence like a physical force. "I know you're not here to learn. You're here to watch. To infiltrate." His voice dropped to a whisper. "To destroy."
Annie's body tensed, ready to attack, to flee, to transform if necessary—but Zaire's next words froze her in place.
"I know what you are, Annie. What you really are."
Slowly, Annie turned to face him, her icy blue eyes meeting his golden ones. "And what's that?"
Zaire's smile was sad, almost sympathetic. "A weapon. Forged by people who don't care how many pieces of your soul they had to chip away in the process." He reached out, his dark fingers hovering just above her cheek without touching. "I recognize the look. I've seen it in the mirror."
Annie took a step back, unnerved by his insight and his proximity. "If you know what I am, why haven't you reported me? Turned me in?"
"Because I'm curious," Zaire admitted. "About your mission. Your masters. What they've told you about this world." His golden eyes bored into hers. "And about whether you still have enough humanity left to choose a different path."
Annie's laugh was bitter and short. "There is no different path. Not for me."
"There's always a choice," Zaire countered, his voice gentle. "Always."
"Easy for you to say," Annie snapped, real emotion breaking through her usually impassive facade. "You don't know what they'll do to my father if I fail. What they'll do to me."
"So it's fear that drives you," Zaire observed. "Not conviction."
Annie looked away, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his words.
Zaire sighed, running a hand over his silver-streaked locs. "I'm not your enemy, Annie. Not yet, anyway. But I won't stand by and watch you destroy the people I've sworn to protect."
"Then we have nothing more to discuss," Annie said, her mask of indifference firmly back in place.
"Perhaps not today," Zaire agreed. "But the offer remains open. If you decide you want a way out... come find me."
As he turned to leave, Annie called after him, "Why would you help me? After what I've done? What I'm planning to do?"
Zaire looked back, his golden eyes reflecting the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. "Because everyone deserves a chance to be more than what others made them to be."
Long after he had disappeared among the trees, Annie remained in the clearing, her practiced forms forgotten as she grappled with emotions she had thought long buried—hope, confusion, and a dangerous, unfamiliar longing for connection.
Night fell over the Scout Regiment compound, the darkness broken only by scattered lanterns and the silver glow of the moon. In the female barracks, most of the cadets were already asleep, exhausted from the day's training.
Mikasa lay awake, watching the moonlight patterns on the ceiling. She had told herself repeatedly that she wouldn't go—that meeting Zaire alone at night was foolish, dangerous even. And yet, as the minutes ticked by, she found herself rising silently from her bed, pulling on her jacket, and slipping out into the corridor.
The roof was accessible via a narrow staircase at the end of the officers' wing. Mikasa moved through the shadows with practiced stealth, avoiding the few guards on night duty. When she finally emerged onto the roof, the cool night air caressed her face, carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forest.
Zaire was already there, a dark silhouette against the star-filled sky. He sat on the edge of the roof, one leg dangling over the side, the other drawn up to his chest. He didn't turn as she approached, though she knew he was aware of her presence.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said as she settled beside him, maintaining a careful distance.
"Neither was I," Mikasa admitted.
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken questions. Finally, Mikasa broke it.
"You said you'd tell me the truth. About what's coming. About yourself."
Zaire turned to look at her, his golden eyes luminous in the moonlight. "Some of it, yes. The parts you're ready to hear."
Mikasa bristled slightly at the condescension. "I'm not a child."
"No," Zaire agreed, his gaze moving over her face with an intensity that made her skin warm despite the cool night air. "You're definitely not that."
Something in his tone made Mikasa acutely aware of their solitude, of the physical space—or lack thereof—between them. She shifted slightly, trying to regain her mental footing.
"Start with yourself," she said. "What are you? Where did you come from?"
Zaire smiled, though there was little humor in it. "The direct approach. I like that about you, Mikasa." He looked up at the stars. "The truth is, I don't know exactly what I am. I have theories, but no certainties."
"What do you remember?" Mikasa pressed. "Before they found you outside the walls?"
Zaire's expression darkened. "Fragments. Images. A life that feels like a dream now." His voice dropped lower. "I remember a world without walls. Without Titans. A world of vast oceans and endless skies. A world where people like me weren't oddities to be stared at and whispered about."
"People like you?"
He gestured to his skin, his eyes. "Where I come from, or where I think I come from, there are many who look like me. And many who look like you. All colors, all kinds, living together." His smile turned sad. "Not perfectly. Not without conflict. But freely."
Mikasa tried to imagine such a world and found it almost impossible. "How did you get here, then?"
Zaire shook his head. "That's the missing piece. I remember... something. A light. Pain. And then darkness. When I woke, I was outside Wall Rose, surrounded by dead Titans." His golden eyes met hers. "And I knew things. Things I shouldn't know. About this world. About what's coming."
"Which is?" Mikasa asked, leaning forward slightly.
Zaire studied her face for a long moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. "War," he said finally. "A war that's been going on for centuries, hidden from people like you. A war over power, over secrets... over blood."
"Whose blood?"
"Yours," Zaire said softly. "Eren's. Historia's. The blood of people who are more than human, in ways most can't understand."
Mikasa's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean, 'more than human'?"
Zaire reached out suddenly, his fingers brushing against her cheek with surprising gentleness. "You've felt it, haven't you? The power that flows through you when you're pushed to your limits? The strength that goes beyond normal human capability?"
Mikasa didn't pull away from his touch, though perhaps she should have. "Yes," she admitted. "Since the day my parents were killed. Since the day I saved Eren."
"It has a name," Zaire said, his fingers still resting lightly against her skin. "The power in your blood. The Ackerman power. Awakened by trauma, by the need to protect someone you... care for deeply."
Mikasa's breath caught. "How do you know this?"
Zaire's hand dropped away, and she was surprised to find herself missing the warmth of his touch. "Like I said, I know things I shouldn't. Things about this world, its history, its future." His expression grew serious. "And I know that you're going to be at the center of it all, Mikasa Ackerman. You, Eren, and a few others. The ones with the power to change everything."
"Or destroy everything?" Mikasa guessed, remembering his earlier words to Eren.
Zaire nodded, a flicker of approval in his golden eyes. "Exactly. Which is why I'm here. To guide you. To prepare you." His voice deepened, gained an edge of intensity. "To make sure that when the moment comes, you're strong enough to make the right choice."
"And how will I know what the right choice is?" Mikasa asked, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility Zaire was placing on her shoulders.
Zaire's smirk returned, softened by the moonlight into something almost tender. "That, Mikasa Ackerman, is the question that keeps me awake at night." His golden eyes held hers. "But I have faith in you. More than you know."
The sincerity in his voice caught Mikasa off guard. She was used to being valued for her skills, her strength, her utility as a soldier. But the way Zaire looked at her now suggested something different—a recognition of her as a person, not just a weapon or a protector.
It was... unsettling. And strangely exhilarating.
Before she could respond, a sudden gust of wind swept across the roof, causing her to sway slightly. Zaire's hand shot out to steady her, gripping her upper arm with firm but gentle pressure.
"Careful," he murmured, not releasing her immediately. "It's a long way down."
Mikasa was acutely aware of his touch, of the heat of his hand through the fabric of her jacket, of his closeness in the silver moonlight. For a wild, irrational moment, she wondered what it would be like to lean into that touch, to close the distance between them.
The thought shocked her back to her senses. This was Zaire—the mysterious stranger with too many secrets and too much power. The man assigned to watch Eren, who might become his executioner if things went wrong. She couldn't afford to see him as anything other than a potential threat.
"I should go," she said, pulling away from his grasp and standing quickly. "It's late."
Zaire rose as well, his movements fluid and graceful even in the near darkness. "Of course." His golden eyes studied her with an unsettling perceptiveness. "Too much truth for one night, perhaps."
Mikasa hesitated, torn between fleeing and asking the dozens of questions still swirling in her mind. "Will you tell me more? Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Zaire agreed, his smile visible in the moonlight. "Same time, same place?" The invitation in his voice was unmistakable.
Mikasa nodded curtly, then turned to leave, trying to ignore the strange flutter in her chest—a sensation she had previously associated only with Eren, but different somehow. More... adult.
As she reached the door leading back into the building, Zaire called after her softly, "Sweet dreams, Mikasa Ackerman."
And to her surprise, they were.
CHAPTER 4: ACCIDENTAL INTIMACIES
The next morning dawned bright and clear, promising a day of scorching heat. Captain Levi, ever practical, had scheduled water training—ostensibly to practice rescue techniques, but primarily to give the cadets a respite from the relentless summer sun.
The small lake behind the Scout Regiment compound was usually reserved for officers, but today it swarmed with cadets, their usual uniforms replaced by simple undergarments that served as makeshift swimwear. The men wore only their uniform pants, cut off at the knee, while the women wore shorts and thin, sleeveless undershirts.
Eren, Armin, and Jean stood in chest-deep water, practicing the rescue holds Levi had demonstrated earlier. Nearby, Connie and Sasha engaged in a spirited splashing contest, much to the annoyance of those trying to take the training seriously.
Annie stood apart as usual, waist-deep in water, her pale blonde hair slicked back from her face, her expression unreadable as she observed the others. Despite the heat, she maintained her emotional distance, a fortress unto herself.
Mikasa, too, remained somewhat removed from the general frivolity, though she dutifully practiced the rescue techniques with Historia, who seemed to be struggling with the physical demands of lifting someone larger than herself.
"Use your legs, not your back," Mikasa instructed, allowing Historia to practice the fireman's carry on her. "Find your center of gravity first, then lift."
Historia nodded, her face flushed with exertion and perhaps embarrassment at their physical closeness. She was acutely aware of Ymir watching from the shore, her expression a mixture of jealousy and amusement.
"Like this?" Historia asked, attempting to hoist Mikasa onto her shoulders.
Before Mikasa could respond, a commotion from the shore drew everyone's attention. Zaire had arrived, and the reaction was immediate and dramatic.
He wore only the lower half of his uniform, cut off like the other men's. But there, the similarity ended. His upper body, bared to the sun and the stunned gazes of the cadets, was a work of art—sculpted muscle flowing beneath smooth, dark skin that gleamed like polished mahogany in the sunlight. His chest and arms bore scars, silver against the rich brown of his skin, telling stories of battles fought and survived. The contrast of his short silver-streaked locs against his dark skin only enhanced the exotic beauty of his appearance.
A hush fell over the lake as all activity temporarily ceased. Even Annie turned to look, her icy composure momentarily cracked by simple human curiosity.
Zaire, either oblivious to or unconcerned by the stares, walked to the edge of the lake with that same predatory grace that characterized all his movements. His golden eyes surveyed the scene with amusement.
"Don't stop on my account," he called, his voice carrying easily across the water. "I'm just here to observe. Captain's orders."
Slowly, the cadets resumed their activities, though with considerably less focus than before. Many of the women—and not a few of the men—continued to cast surreptitious glances in Zaire's direction.
Mikasa, to her annoyance, found herself among them. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he moved, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin, the casual power evident in every gesture. She forced her attention back to Historia, who had abandoned her attempt at the fireman's carry and was now staring openly at Zaire.
"Let's try again," Mikasa said, perhaps more sharply than intended.
Historia jumped slightly, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Right. Sorry."
As they resumed their practice, Mikasa couldn't help noticing that Zaire had begun to wade into the lake, moving with surprising grace through the water. Unlike the others, who splashed and disturbed the surface with their movements, he seemed to glide through it effortlessly, as if the water itself made way for him.
He approached Annie first, who visibly tensed at his proximity.
"Relax," they heard him say, his voice carrying over the water. "I'm not here to expose you. Not today, anyway."
Annie's expression remained guarded, but she didn't retreat as Zaire moved closer, until he stood directly before her.
"You're not participating," he observed, nodding toward the others practicing rescue techniques.
"I don't need the practice," Annie replied coolly.
Zaire's smirk appeared. "Everyone needs practice, Leonhart. Even you." Without warning, he grasped her around the waist and lifted her completely out of the water in what appeared to be a demonstration of the proper rescue hold.
Annie's reaction was instantaneous and violent. She twisted in his grip, her body moving with the practiced precision of a trained fighter. But Zaire anticipated her, adjusting his hold to counter her resistance.
What followed was a brief but intense struggle that looked more like an intimate dance than combat. Annie's pale limbs contrasted sharply with Zaire's dark skin as they grappled, water splashing around them. Despite her considerable skill, Annie found herself consistently outmaneuvered, her attacks turned against her with fluid ease.
Finally, Zaire pinned her arms to her sides, holding her firmly against his chest. "Yield," he murmured, his voice just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "You can't win this one, Annie."
For a moment, it seemed she would continue to struggle. Then, surprisingly, she went limp in his arms, her head dropping forward in apparent defeat.
"Better," Zaire approved, releasing her slowly. "Knowing when to concede is as important as knowing how to fight."
Annie stepped away from him quickly, her wet clothing clinging to her slight frame, her expression a complex mixture of anger, confusion, and something else—something that might, on anyone else, have looked like reluctant fascination.
Zaire turned his attention to the other cadets, who had largely abandoned their own practice to watch the display. "Back to work," he called, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable authority. "The Titans won't be distracted by a little water sport."
As the cadets hastily resumed their activities, Zaire began to move among them, offering corrections and demonstrations. When he reached Mikasa and Historia, he paused, those golden eyes taking in their progress with analytical precision.
"Not bad, Reiss," he said, using Historia's real name softly enough that only she and Mikasa could hear. "But your stance is wrong. You need a wider base for stability."
Before Historia could respond, Zaire moved behind her, placing his hands on her hips to adjust her position. The intimate contact made her freeze, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Like this," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear as he guided her into a proper stance. "Feel the difference?"
Historia nodded mutely, her face flushed. Mikasa watched with narrowed eyes, uncertain whether to intervene. The touch seemed professional, instructional, and yet there was something in the way Zaire's hands lingered on Historia's hips, in the closeness of his body to hers, that suggested something more.
"Good," Zaire said, finally stepping back. "Now try the lift again. Remember—power comes from the legs and core, not the arms."
Historia nodded again, seeming unable to find her voice. When she attempted the lift this time, her improved stance allowed her to hoist Mikasa more effectively, though she still struggled with the weight.
"Better," Zaire approved. "But you're still tensing your shoulders too much." He moved closer again, his hands coming up to massage Historia's shoulders briefly. "Relax these. Let your body do the work naturally."
The touch, though brief, left Historia looking flustered and oddly breathless. Mikasa frowned, increasingly uncomfortable with the situation.
"I think we've practiced enough," she said, stepping away from Historia. "We should move on to the floating exercise."
Zaire's golden eyes met hers, amusement dancing in their depths. "As you wish, Ackerman." He inclined his head slightly. "Though I was hoping to see your technique as well. I'm curious how you handle... resistance."
The words were innocent enough, but something in his tone, in the way his eyes held hers, suggested meanings beyond mere training. Mikasa felt a strange heat rise to her cheeks, which annoyed her immensely.
"Another time, perhaps," she replied coolly, turning away.
Zaire's deep chuckle followed her. "I'll hold you to that, Ackerman."
The water training continued until midday, when the heat became too intense even with the relief of the lake. Captain Levi dismissed the cadets for a brief meal and rest period before afternoon exercises would resume.
The female cadets returned to their barracks to change into dry clothing. The common washroom was a hive of activity as they hurried to rinse off lake water and don fresh uniforms.
Mikasa, preferring solitude, waited until most had finished before entering the washroom. To her surprise, Annie was still there, standing before one of the small mirrors, her wet hair combed back from her face. She appeared deep in thought, almost unaware of Mikasa's entrance.
"Are you alright?" Mikasa asked, breaking Annie's reverie.
Annie's eyes flicked to her in the mirror, then away. "Fine," she replied curtly.
Mikasa began to undress, peeling off her wet garments with efficient movements. "You and Zaire seemed... familiar with each other," she observed, trying to sound casual.
Annie's expression hardened. "He's dangerous," she said after a moment. "More than you know."
"Because he knows what you are?" Mikasa asked quietly.
Annie turned sharply, her icy blue eyes widening slightly. "What did you say?"
"I heard him," Mikasa admitted. "By the lake. He said he wasn't there to expose you. What did he mean?"
For a long moment, Annie said nothing, her face a mask of controlled emotion. Then, surprisingly, a small, bitter laugh escaped her. "Ask him yourself," she suggested. "He seems eager enough to share his secrets with you."
Before Mikasa could respond, the washroom door burst open, and Sasha tumbled in, her usual exuberance magnified by hunger and excitement.
"There you are!" she exclaimed, grabbing Mikasa's arm. "You have to come quickly! Something's happened!"
"What is it?" Mikasa asked, hastily pulling on her shirt.
"It's Zaire," Sasha said, her eyes wide. "He's fighting Captain Levi!"
The training yard had become an impromptu arena, with cadets and officers alike forming a wide circle around the two combatants at its center. Levi and Zaire moved with blinding speed, their forms blurring as they exchanged strikes and counters too fast for untrained eyes to follow.
Mikasa, Annie, and Sasha pushed their way to the front of the crowd, arriving just in time to see Levi launch a devastating kick that should have incapacitated any normal opponent. Zaire, however, caught the Captain's ankle mid-strike, a move that drew gasps from the watching crowd.
"Impossible," Armin murmured beside them, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. "No one's fast enough to catch the Captain..."
But Zaire had done more than catch the kick. In a fluid motion that seemed to defy physics, he used Levi's momentum against him, sending the smaller man flying through the air. Levi, ever the master of the ODM gear, twisted mid-flight and landed in a crouch, his eyes narrowed with what might have been anger—or perhaps excitement.
"Not bad," the Captain acknowledged, straightening slowly. "But you're still holding back."
Zaire's smirk was firmly in place, though sweat gleamed on his bare chest and shoulders. "So are you, Captain."
"Then let's stop playing," Levi suggested, and without further warning, he attacked again, this time with a series of lightning-fast strikes that seemed impossible to evade or block.
Yet Zaire did just that, his body moving with fluid grace, each defense flowing seamlessly into the next. It was like watching water adapt to obstacles in its path—effortless, natural, inevitable.
The display was mesmerizing. Mikasa, herself a master combatant, could barely follow their movements. It was clear that both men possessed skills far beyond normal human capacity, but while Levi's abilities were well-known, Zaire's remained a mystery. How had he acquired such mastery? What was the source of his incredible speed and strength?
The fight reached its climax when both men landed blows simultaneously—Levi's fist connecting with Zaire's jaw as Zaire's knee drove into Levi's solar plexus. The impact sent them both staggering backward, momentarily separated.
For a heartbeat, silence fell over the yard. Then, unexpectedly, Levi smiled—a rare, genuine expression that transformed his usually stern features.
"Enough," he said, holding up a hand. "I think we've given them enough of a show."
Zaire nodded, rubbing his jaw where Levi's punch had landed. "Another time, Captain?"
"Count on it," Levi agreed. He turned to address the assembled cadets. "What are you all staring at? Back to your duties!"
As the crowd began to disperse, buzzing with excitement over what they had witnessed, Mikasa noticed Historia slipping away toward the supply shed, her expression troubled. Acting on impulse, Mikasa followed her, curious about her reaction to the fight.
She found Historia inside the dim shed, leaning against a stack of crates, her face buried in her hands.
"Krista?" Mikasa called softly, using the name others knew her by. "Are you alright?"
Historia looked up, startled. Her blue eyes were suspiciously bright, as if she had been on the verge of tears. "Oh, Mikasa. Yes, I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed, I suppose."
Mikasa stepped closer, concern overriding her usual reserve. "By the fight?"
Historia hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. No. I don't know." She sighed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Zaire... he frightens me."
"Because he knows your real identity?" Mikasa asked gently.
Historia's eyes widened in shock. "You know?"
"I've suspected for a while," Mikasa admitted. "You don't have to tell me the details. But whatever secret you're keeping, Zaire seems to know it too."
Historia sagged against the crates, the weight of her deception visibly heavy on her slight shoulders. "He knows everything," she whispered. "Things no one should know. About me, about my family... about what I might have to become."
"What do you mean?"
Historia shook her head. "I can't... It's too dangerous. For both of us." She looked up at Mikasa, her blue eyes suddenly intense. "Be careful around him, Mikasa. He's not what he seems."
"None of us are," Mikasa pointed out quietly.
A soft laugh escaped Historia. "True enough." She straightened, composing herself with visible effort. "We should get back before someone notices we're missing."
As they turned to leave the shed, the door suddenly swung open, revealing Zaire's tall figure silhouetted against the bright sunlight outside. He had donned his shirt, though it hung open, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest and abdomen.
"Ladies," he greeted them, his golden eyes taking in their closeness, their expressions. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Historia said quickly, too quickly. "We were just getting supplies."
Zaire's smirk indicated he didn't believe her for a second. "Supplies. I see." He stepped into the shed, pulling the door closed behind him, plunging the three of them into semi-darkness broken only by the thin shafts of sunlight streaming through the gaps in the wooden walls.
"Actually," he continued, moving closer with that silent, predatory grace, "I was looking for a place to tend to this." He gestured to his jaw, where a bruise was beginning to form from Levi's punch. "The infirmary asks too many questions."
"You should put ice on it," Historia said automatically, her natural kindness overcoming her wariness.
"No ice here, I'm afraid," Zaire replied, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. "But perhaps you could help in another way?"
Before either woman could react, he had moved to stand directly before Historia, his imposing height making him tower over her petite frame. "Your touch," he murmured, bending slightly so his injured jaw was level with her face. "I've heard it has... healing properties."
Historia's eyes widened, understanding and alarm flashing across her features. "I don't... I don't know what you mean."
"No?" Zaire's voice was soft, almost hypnotic. "Perhaps I'm mistaken, then. Perhaps the royal blood flowing through your veins is just an ordinary type after all."
Mikasa tensed, ready to intervene if necessary. "Zaire," she warned, her voice low and dangerous.
But Z