Chapter 5: The Seizure's Aftermath
The crystal sword dissolved into mist that smelled of ozone and shattered glass. The glow from Amiya’s arms faded, the plates sliding back under her skin with a wet, reluctant sound. For a second, she just stood there in the plaza, the rain plastering her hair to her scalp, her uniform heavy and cold. The hollow pull from beyond the wall had vanished, cut off as abruptly as a slamming door, leaving only a deep, resonant ache in her bones.
Levi watched her, his gaze analytical, detached. He gave a sharp signal, and his squad began the cleanup, hauling the surviving Garrison soldier away, their movements efficient and devoid of the awe that had frozen them before.Titans were dead.The job was done.That was all.
“Move,” Levi said, his voice cutting through the rain.It wasn’t a suggestion.
Amiya’s body obeyed before her mind could. She activated her gear, following his green cloak as he led them not to the debriefing room or the lab, but directly back towards the officers’ quarters. The flight was a blur of grey sky and nausea. The powerful, steady burn in her core was guttering now, shifting into something unstable, a banked fire with too much air. A familiar, dreaded tingling started at the base of her skull, a precursor she knew too well.
They landed in the courtyard.Her boots slipped on the wet cobbles. Levi’s hand shot out, grabbing her elbow, holding her upright.“Look at me.” She forced her eyes to his. His pupils were contracted, sharp. “How many?”
“What?”
“How many fingers?” He held up two.“Two,” she whispered. The tingling spread down her spine, a cascade of pins and needles.
“Good.” He didn’t let go, steering her through the maze of stone corridors. The usual sounds of the camp—the clang of the forge, the barked orders—seemed muffled, distorted, as if she were hearing them from underwater. The only clear thing was the solid pressure of his hand, the rapid, military click of his boots beside her.
They reached his door.He pushed it open, pulled her inside, and locked it behind them.
His room was exactly as they’d left it: the bed unmade, the lantern flickering, the stack of reports on the desk a monument to a world that still made sense. The normalcy of it was a slap. She didn’t belong here, not with this new cold fire in her veins, not with the echo of Titan-hunger in her head.
The pulling sensation in her skull tightened.Her vision fractured at the edges, light splintering into painful prisms. “Levi,” she gasped, the word slurring.He was already moving. He caught her as her knees buckled, his arms wrapping around her before she could hit the hard floor. He lowered them both down, his back against the side of the bed, cradling her in his lap as the convulsions took hold.It wasn’t like the others.This was violence. Her body arched, muscles locking in agonizing cords. A jagged spike of crystalline armor erupted from her shoulder, then vanished, then re-appeared along her thigh, fractal and uncontrolled. The room’s dim light glinted off the sporadic, painful blooms of white scale, each one a small explosion of sensation she couldn’t control. A low, ragged sound was torn from her throat, less a scream and more the sound of something breaking.“I’ve got you.You’re here. You’re with me.” His voice was a drill sergeant’s calm, absolute, a tether thrown into the storm. One arm was banded across her chest, holding her tight to him, preventing her from thrashing her head against the floorboards. His other hand cradled the back of her skull, his fingers pressing into her scalp, a steady, grounding pressure. “Breathe through it, baby girl.Ride it out. I’m not going anywhere.”
The seizure raged, a war between the electrical storm in her brain and the alien chemistry rewriting her cells. She was a conduit for chaos, shaking apart in his arms. He held her through every brutal tremor, his own body rigid with the effort of containing hers, his words a continuous, murmured stream against her ear. Promises, commands, reassurances—all delivered with the same flat, unwavering certainty.
When it finally passed, it left a vacuum. The tension bled out of her, leaving her limp, hollowed out.The crystals retracted, leaving her skin fever-hot and sensitive. Her vision swam, the room tilting nauseously.Disorientation wrapped around her, thick as wool. She knew his face was above hers, but it wavered, unreal. The only solid, undeniable truth was the feel of him: the damp cotton of his shirt under her cheek, the beat of his heart against her back, the smell of gun oil and rain and him.
Her fingers, nerveless and clumsy, fisted in the fabric of his shirt.She couldn’t let go. If she let go, she would dissolve into the after-echo of the seizure, into the cold pull of the crystal, into the terrifying blankness. She buried her face against his chest, a weak, desperate sound escaping her.“Shhh.I know.” He shifted, gathering her up. He stood with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. She clung harder, her arms looping around his neck, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, holding on like she was drowning and he was the only rock in a furious sea.She was a koala, a vine, a desperate appendage. She needed the constant, unyielding proof of his presence.He carried her to the bed. “Have to get you out of the wet gear,” he said, his tone practical.
A whimper of protest broke from her lips.Her grip tightened.“Amiya. Look at me.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.His gaze was fierce, uncompromising. “I am not putting you down.But you’re shivering. We need to get you warm.”
It was logic, and she was adrift in a sea of disorder. She gave a tiny, frantic nod, but didn’t unwind herself from him. He managed, working with a soldier’s efficiency despite her being attached to him. He unclasped her harness, letting it fall to the floor. He peeled the soaked uniform jacket from her shoulders, her arms reluctantly unlinking from his neck only long enough for the fabric to pass over her head before they locked back around him. He did the same with her trousers, until she was just in her thin, damp underclothes, plastered against the hard planes of his clothed body.
He snagged the thick wool blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her, a cocoon of sudden warmth. Then, finally, he sat on the edge of the mattress, settling her sideways in his lap. She immediately burrowed into him, her face tucked into the curve of his neck, her entire body seeking maximum contact. The clinginess was absolute, a physical manifestation of the terror still humming in her veins. He adjusted the blanket around her, his hand coming up to stroke her damp hair, his touch moving in slow, deliberate sweeps from her crown to the nape of her neck.“That was a bad one,” he stated, his voice low.
“It’s the crystal,” she mumbled against his skin. Her words were thick, slowed by post-seizure fog.“It… it doesn’t stop when the fight does. It keeps burning.It wanted…”
“What did it want?”
“To answer.The pull. From outside.” A full-body shudder racked her. “I’m scared, Levi.”
His hand stilled for a moment on her head, then resumed its rhythm. “I know.”
“What if next time… I don’t come back?” The admission was a raw, damp whisper into his collar. “What if I start walking towards that… that call, and I can’t stop myself? What if I hurt someone?”
He was silent for a long minute. The only sound was the patter of rain on the window and the crackle of the lantern. Then he shifted, lying back on the bed and drawing her with him, arranging her so she was half on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest, her legs tangled with his.The blanket covered them both. He held her close, one arm a firm bar across her back, his other hand still carding through her hair.
“Then I’ll stop you,” he said, the words a vow etched in stone. “That’s my job.”
“You couldn’t. If it was strong enough—”
“I said I’ll stop you.” He cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “But you’re going to fight it, too.You’re going to learn the trigger. You’re going to use it, like a weapon. You’re not just going to let it happen, Amiya.You hear me? You fight.”
His words lit a tiny, stubborn ember in the cold hollow of her fear.Fight.She knew how to fight. She’d been fighting all her life.She nodded, a small movement against him.
The adrenaline crash and the exhaustion from the seizure were pulling her under. Her eyelids grew heavy, but the fear of sleep, of nightmares, of losing herself in the dark, kept her clinging. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of his shirt.“I can’t sleep,” she murmured, a plea.
“You don’t have to,” he answered.“Just rest.I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He began to talk, not about Titans or strategies, but about nothing. The poor quality of the tea ration.The idiocy of a new recruit who’d tried to polish gear with grease. The mundane, boring details of a world that was still human. His voice was a low, steady rumble in his chest, vibrating through her, a barrier against the silence where the whispers lived.
Gradually, her grip loosened, not from letting go, but from the sheer, absolute trust that he wouldn’t move.Her breathing slowed, syncing with his. The terrifying, hollow pull was just a memory. The only call now was the steady beat of his heart under her ear, the safest sound she knew.
Just as she finally slipped into a fragile, dreamless state, he spoke again, so quietly she almost thought she’d imagined it.
“You’re still you,” he whispered into her hair.“And I’m still here. That’s all that matters.”
Outside, the rain fell harder, sheeting against the window, washing the blood from the stones of the plaza. Inside, in the guarded dark, she held on, and he let her, a fortress against the storm waiting to claim her. For now, it was enough.