Chapter 12: Chapter 12
The forest became a smear of greys and blacks, a tunnel of agony. Each step Sage took was a calculated betrayal, her leg a column of ground glass and fire. Levi set a brutal pace, a shadow flickering between the trees ahead, never out of sight for more than a minute. He’d disappear, scout, and reappear, a silent, impatient ghost waiting for them to catch up.
Petra and Eld were faring better, but the night and the fear were taking their toll. Their breathing was ragged, their movements losing precision. Sage focused on the back of Levi’s head, on the faint sheen of his undercut in the weak moonlight filtering through the canopy. It was a point to fix on, a star to steer by.
The ground began to slope downward into a shallow valley. The air grew damper, carrying the smell of stagnant water and rotting wood. The old mill was close.
Her foot caught on a hidden root. She went down hard, biting back a cry as she landed on her good side, the impact shuddering through her ribs. Petra was at her side instantly, hands under her arms.
“I’m okay,” Sage gasped, pushing herself up. The world tilted. She wasn’t okay. A cold, clammy sweat had broken out all over her body, and the trees were doing a slow, nauseating dance.
Levi was suddenly there. He didn’t ask. He just looked at her, his eyes scanning her face, her posture, the slight tremor in her hands. “Up,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for debate.
They crested a small rise, and there it was. The old mill sat in a clearing by a choked, sluggish stream, its waterwheel a skeletal silhouette against the night sky. The stone structure was half-collapsed, the roof gaping like a rotten mouth. It was dark, silent. No sign of life.
“Wait here,” Levi murmured, melting into the shadows around the perimeter. They watched him go, three statues holding their breath. Minutes later, a low whistle cut the air—two short bursts. The all-clear.
As they picked their way down the slope toward the crumbling entrance, the full weight of her exhaustion collapsed onto Sage’s shoulders. The adrenaline that had carried her from the castle, through the flare-shot terror, and across miles of dark forest was gone, burned up. What remained was a hollow, shaking shell filled with pain. Every throb in her leg was a hammer strike on an anvil of pure fatigue.
The mill’s interior was a cavern of deeper darkness, smelling of mildew, old grain, and animal dung. A sliver of moonlight through a broken wall illuminated floating dust motes. Levi stood in the center, a blade now loose in his hand. “Empty. No one’s made it here yet.”
The statement hung in the cold air. They were the first. Maybe the only.
Sage leaned against a slimy stone wall, sliding down it until she was sitting. The relief of stopping was almost worse than moving; now every ache had permission to scream. She pulled the canteen free, took a small, precious sip, and handed it to Petra.
Levi paced the perimeter of the main room, checking sightlines, assessing the structure. His movements were still crisp, but there was a tightness to him now, a coiled-wire tension that hadn’t been there before. He was listening for something beyond their ragged breathing.
Sage watched him, a strange clarity cutting through her fog of pain. He was hurt, too. Not just the cut on his jaw. He moved with a slight, barely perceptible favor to his left side. His mission had been a shitshow, he’d said. He’d seen the breach smoke. And he’d come for her pink flare anyway.
The weight of that, of what it cost him to be here, settled on her like a physical load. It was a debt she couldn’t repay. A burden she’d become.
“Levi…”
He didn’t stop his pacing. “What.”
Her voice was flat, stripped bare by exhaustion. “I’m just slowing us down.”
“You’re not.” He didn’t even look at her, his gaze fixed on a gap in the far wall.
A bitter laugh, more of a cough, escaped her. “Yes. I am.” She drew her good knee up, resting her forehead against it. The words were facts, simple and brutal. “I spent most of my energy just trying to get out of HQ with Petra and Eld. Running on a leg that wasn’t ready. I’m dead weight and you know it.”
He stopped pacing.
The silence in the mill became absolute. Petra and Eld froze, looking anywhere but at the two of them.
Levi turned slowly. In the gloom, his eyes were chips of flint. “Are you giving up, Renn?”
“No.” She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. There was no fight in her voice, just a weary honesty. “I’m stating a tactical fact. You could have been at the secondary rally point by now. You could be with Hange, figuring out what the hell that thing was that hit the wall. Instead, you’re babysitting a cripple in a rotten mill.”
He took two steps toward her, his boots silent on the earthen floor. He crouched, bringing himself to her eye level. His closeness was intimidating, a wall of focused intensity. “You fired a flare only I would answer. I answered. That made you my responsibility. My tactical decision.” His voice was low, each word precisely placed. “You don’t get to retroactively declare yourself a liability. That’s my call.”
“It’s a bad call,” she whispered.
“My calls often are.” He said it without a hint of irony. “But they’re still mine. So shut up about being dead weight. You’re breathing. You’re thinking. You’re carrying a canteen and a sword we might need. That’s not dead weight. That’s a soldier who’s still in the fight.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, the grey of his eyes unreadable in the dark. Then he stood, turning away as if the conversation was closed. “Petra, take first watch at the north window. Eld, bar the door as best you can. We rest for two hours. No more.”
He walked to the opposite wall and sat, his back against the stones, his blades within easy reach. He closed his eyes. The discussion was over.
Sage sat in the silence he left behind, his words echoing. You’re still in the fight. She felt for the river stone in her pocket, its surface cool and reassuring. She wasn’t balanced. She was broken and exhausted. But she was here.
Petra settled by a narrow window slit. Eld dragged a rotten timber in front of the sagging door. The sounds were small and final.
Sage let her head fall back against the wall, staring up at the patches of night sky visible through the shattered roof. The pain in her leg was a constant, pounding rhythm. But beneath it, something else stubbornly flickered. Not optimism. Not yet. But a grim, tenacious refusal to be the thing that broke his decision.
She closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to listen. To the stream outside, to the wind in the pines, to the sound of four people breathing in the dark.
Two hours.
Then they would move again.
Then they would move again. The thought was a cold stone in her gut. Sage drifted in a shallow, painful haze, never quite reaching sleep. The mill’s silence was a porous thing, letting in the drip of distant water and the creak of ancient timber. Every sound was a footstep. Every shift of shadow was movement.
Time lost meaning. It was measured in the rhythm of Petra’s quiet breathing by the window, in the ache that migrated from her thigh to her lower back. She heard the soft scuff of a boot on dirt. She opened her eyes.
Levi was moving from his post across the room. He didn’t look at Petra or Eld. He just crossed the dark space and lowered himself to the floor beside her. He settled close enough that their shoulders and thighs touched, a line of solid, reassuring heat against the damp chill seeping from the stones.
“I missed you.” She whispered, interlacing her fingers with his.
His hand was calloused and cool. It stiffened for a fraction of a second, then his fingers closed around hers, tight, almost painful. “I know.” He said.
The simplicity of it unspooled something knotted inside her chest. “I didn’t know if you would see the flare but it was the only option.” She said, leaning her head on his shoulder. The coarse fabric of his jacket scratched her cheek. He smelled of pine and iron and sweat.
“I’m glad you used it.” He responded, his voice a low rumble she felt through her bones. He turned his head, his lips brushing the top of her hair in a kiss so fleeting she might have imagined it.
They sat in the shared quiet, listening to the others pretend to sleep. His thumb moved slowly, almost absently, across the back of her hand. It was a small, shocking tenderness. The kind of touch he would never permit in the light.
“I ran today.” She whispered after a while, the statement a confession of both failure and a brutal, hard-won fact.
“You did.” His voice was dry, close to her ear. “On two legs that barely function.” He scoffed into her hair, but the arm pressed against hers held firm.
A soft, almost inaudible sound escaped her—not a laugh, but a release of breath. He’d seen it. He’d catalogued the agony of every step and hadn’t left her behind. His earlier words in the forest returned, stripped of their tactical veneer. You’re still in the fight.
He shifted slightly, his head tilting to rest against hers. The combined weight was a comfort. For a few stolen minutes, the mill wasn’t a ruin. It was a pocket of stillness where the only responsibility was the anchor of his hand in hers.
Outside, a branch snapped.
They both went rigid. His hand squeezed hers once, a silent signal, then released. The warmth vanished as he drew away, becoming Captain Levi again in the space of a heartbeat. His eyes were already scanning the broken window, sharp and devoid of sleep.
“Time’s up,” he murmured, the words for her alone.
The moment was over, sealed away. But the imprint of it remained on her skin, a warmth against the gathering cold. She pushed herself up, gritting her teeth against the flare of pain, and found she could stand.
She pushed herself up, gritting her teeth against the flare of pain, and found she could stand. The snapped branch outside had severed the fragile peace. Levi was already moving, a silhouette against the greying pre-dawn light at the window. “They’re here,” he said, his voice stripped of everything but certainty.
Petra and Eld were on their feet in an instant, weapons drawn. “How many?” Eld whispered, his knuckles white on the sword hilt.
“Doesn’t matter.” Levi didn’t turn from his survey. “We’re leaving. Now.” His gaze cut to Sage, then to the doorway. “The horses are spent. We go through the trees.”
A cold knot tightened in Sage’s stomach. The ODM gear. Her harness was back in the castle, a world away. He saw the understanding dawn on her face. Without breaking stride, he crossed to Eld. “Your belt. Now.”
Eld blinked, then fumbled with the buckle, handing over the thick leather strap. Levi turned to Sage. “This will hurt. Don’t scream.” There was no apology in his voice, only a brutal practicality. He looped the belt around her waist, pulling it tight enough to pinch her skin, then secured the end through his own gear’s central buckle, creating a crude, effective tether.
He cinched it one last notch, his hands swift and impersonal. The cold buckle dug into her hip. “Arms around my neck. Don’t let go. If you choke me, we both die.”
She locked her hands behind his neck, her body flush against the hard plates of his gear. Petra and Eld were already scrambling out, heading for the panicked horses. Levi backed toward the mill’s largest hole in the wall, his eyes on the tree line. Sage could feel the coiled tension in every muscle of his back, the ready vibration in his frame.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low murmur against her temple.
She nodded, her face buried in his shoulder. “Do it.”
He fired the anchors. The twin hooks shot out into the dim forest with a sharp, metallic crack. The gas ignited. They were yanked forward into a violent, soaring lunge that stole the air from her lungs. The ground dropped away in a sickening rush.
The world became a blur of snarling branches and roaring wind. He swung them in a wide, desperate arc, building momentum. The belt held, a vicious band of pressure against her stomach, grinding into the fresh bruises from her fall. Every jolt, every sudden change in direction, sent a white-hot spike through her injured legs.
She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to him, her only anchor in the chaos. Below, she heard the thunder of hooves as Petra and Eld fled on the ground, and from the direction of the mill, a deep, guttural roar that shook the leaves around them. He didn’t look back. He adjusted their trajectory, firing again, propelling them deeper into the forest’s heart, strapped together in a frantic, shared flight.
The world dissolved into a violent tapestry of greens and greys. Branches whipped past, close enough to tear skin. Levi moved with a ferocious, controlled recklessness, each gas-powered burst a hammer blow to Sage’s gut where the belt bit deep. She didn’t scream. She locked her jaw, her arms a vise around his neck, and let the pain become just another element of the storm.
They crashed through a canopy of leaves into a momentary clearing. He fired an anchor into a massive pine, swinging them in a tight, stomach-lurching arc. “Eyes open!” he barked over the wind’s roar.
She forced them open. The forest floor was a dizzying smear below. She saw movement—large, crashing, but not the lumbering gait of a titan. This was lower, faster, a predator’s sprint through the undergrowth. It was following the sound, following them.
Levi didn’t try to lose it. He used it. He led the thing on a twisting, vertical chase, using the trees like a lethal playground. Every turn was sharper, every drop more sudden. He was testing it, measuring its speed and agility against his own.
Sage’s leg was a numb, dead weight. Her fingers ached from clinging. “Levi!” she gasped into his ear.
“I know.” His reply was clipped. He’d felt her grip weakening. Below, the pursuer slammed into a trunk, the impact echoing like a cannon shot. It was closing the gap.
He changed tactics. Instead of fleeing deeper, he arced back toward the sound of the stream, toward the mill. The ground rushed up to meet them. He severed the line early, dropping the last ten feet and landing in a rolling crouch that jarred Sage’s entire skeleton. He sliced the belt tether with a blade before she could even groan.
“Up. Now.” He hauled her to her feet, shoving her toward a thicket of brambles and shattered rock by the water’s edge. “In there. Don’t move.”
He turned, blades flashing into his hands, and stood between her and the approaching thunder.
It burst from the tree line. It was not a titan. It was a nightmare of sinew and exposed, pulsating muscle, moving on all fours like a wolf but the size of a cart horse. It had no skin, only corded red fibers, and its head was a bony, eyeless wedge centered on a vertical, slavering maw.
“What is that?” Sage whispered, frozen.
Levi didn’t answer. He charged it.
The thing was fast, but he was a blur. He ducked a swiping limb that tore a furrow in the earth, spun, and sliced a deep gash across its flank. It didn’t roar. It made a wet, clicking shriek. It whirled, impossibly agile, and lunged. He launched himself over its back, scoring its spine. Black blood sprayed.
It wasn’t enough. The wounds seemed to knit before her eyes, the muscle fibers squirming to reconnect. Levi landed, his expression hardening. Regeneration. But faster. Much faster.
It charged again. This time, it anticipated his dodge. A whip-like tail, bone-tipped, lashed out from its haunches. It caught him across the ribs, throwing him into a tree with a sickening crunch.
Sage’s breath stopped. He slid down the trunk, landing on his feet but unsteady, one arm pressed to his side.
The creature coiled, preparing to pounce on its stunned prey. Its maw dripped.
Her hand found the flare gun, still wedged in her belt. The standard red canister. Useless. Her other hand closed around Petra’s short sword. Her leg screamed in protest as she pushed herself upright from the rocks.
Levi saw her move from the corner of his eye. “Stay down!” he snarled, blood flecking his lips.
The creature leaped.
Sage didn’t think. She threw the sword. It was a clumsy, desperate thing, end over end. It didn’t strike flesh. It hilt-first hit the bony plate of the thing’s head with a loud crack.
The distraction was a fraction of a second. It was all Levi needed.
He pushed off the tree, ignoring the agony in his side, and shot straight up. The thing’s jaws snapped shut on empty air where he had been. He dropped from above like a stone, driving both blades deep into the knotted muscle where its neck met its shoulders. He wrenched them apart in a brutal scissor motion.
The wet, tearing sound was horrific. The creature spasmed, its shriek cutting off into a gurgle. It collapsed, twitching, the black ooze flooding from the catastrophic wound.
Levi landed beside it, yanked his blades free, and didn’t watch it die. He was already moving back to Sage, his breathing ragged. A dark stain was spreading on his shirt beneath his jacket.
“You’re hit,” she said, her own voice strange to her ears.
“It’s cracked. Not pierced.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You threw a sword.”
“I missed.”
“You aimed wrong to hit it.” He looked at the dead creature, then back at her. His gaze was assessing, different. “You read the fight.”
A new sound reached them—the hiss of ODM gear, multiple sets, approaching fast from the north. Hange’s squad. Relief, cold and weak, flooded Sage’s veins. Levi straightened, sheathing his blades, the motion tight with pain.
“Don’t mention the belt,” he said quietly, his eyes on the approaching scouts.
“Why?”
“Because I’ll never hear the end of it from Four-Eyes.” He glanced at her, a flicker of something almost like humor in his exhausted face. “And it was a shitty solution.”
A grin, tired and wobbly, touched her lips. “It worked.”
Hange Zoe exploded from the trees first, their goggles askew, followed by a squad of six. They took in the scene: the bizarre, steaming carcass, Levi’s battered stance, Sage leaning on the rocks. “Levi! You found them! And you brought us a present!” Hange bounded toward the dead creature, fascination instantly overriding concern.
“What is it?” Levi asked, his voice all business again.
“Not a clue! Not a proper titan, that’s for sure! The skinless ones from the breach were smaller, slower. This is a new variant! Or an evolution! The spinal tissue looks different, see how it’s—”
“Hange.” Levi’s tone could freeze water. “Later. We need to move.”
Hange blinked, then nodded, snapping back to the moment. “Right. Yes. Mike’s squad secured a route back to the eastern gate. The main titan incursion from the breach is contained, but the walls are compromised. HQ is standing, but it’s a mess.” Their eyes landed on Sage’s legs, on the way she held herself. “Can she travel?”
“She’ll have to.” Levi looked at Sage, a question in his eyes she’d never seen before—a request, not an order.
She nodded, pushing off the rock. Her legs held. “I can travel.”
The journey back was a slow, painful caravan through a scarred landscape. They moved on the ground, leading the few remaining horses, a somber procession under a pale morning sun. Hange’s squad formed a protective perimeter, their eyes scanning the too-quiet woods. Levi walked slightly ahead, his posture rigid, guarding his injured side.
Sage moved in a haze of endurance, each step a monument to will. The river stone was a heavy comfort in her pocket. She watched the set of Levi’s shoulders, the careful way he breathed. He had promised the trying. He had delivered a violence so complete it left a new kind of silence between them.
They reached the outer patrol zones by midday. The sight of the Scout Regiment banners, tattered but flying, should have brought relief. It only tightened the knot in Sage’s stomach. The reality of what came next was settling in: debriefings, reports, the cold scrutiny of Erwin’s blue eyes. The sterile room waiting for her.
The eastern gate came into view, a jagged hole in the world now patched with frantic timber and iron scaffolding. Soldiers swarmed over it like ants. As they passed through the shadow of the wall, the familiar smells of humanity—smoke, cooking, sewage—washed over them. It smelled like survival. It smelled like a cage.
Levi fell back beside her as they entered the main courtyard of Headquarters. The chaos was organized, a directed frenzy of repair and triage. He didn’t look at her. He spoke to the air between them, his voice low.
“Go to the infirmary. Get that leg looked at. Again.” He paused. “Don’t lie to the medics about how you aggravated it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stopped walking then, forcing her to stop beside him amidst the flow of bodies. He finally turned his head, his grey eyes meeting hers. They were exhausted, but clear. “You’re not dead weight. You never were.”
Before she could form a reply, he was gone, striding toward the command tower where Erwin would be waiting. She watched his retreating back, the stain on his shirt, until he was swallowed by the crowd.
Petra appeared at her elbow, gentle but firm. “Come on. Let’s get you off that leg before it falls off.”
Sage let herself be led, not toward the infirmary, but toward the officers’ quarters, toward her own room. The trying was over. They were back. The silence of the mill, the heat of his shoulder against hers, the roar of the wind—it was all sealed away now, a secret chapter in the midst of the war.
Her room was as she left it: the maps on the wall, the half-empty glass on the table. The bed with its stained sheets. She sat on its edge, the simple act of not moving a profound relief. Petra brought her a clean canteen and left without a word, closing the door.
Alone, Sage pulled the smooth river stone from her pocket. She placed it on the nightstand beside the glass of water. It looked small there, insignificant. A token from a world that felt increasingly distant.
Outside her window, the courtyard buzzed with the sound of Headquarters rebuilding, preparing, calculating the next move. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and listened to it. The fight outside the walls was over. The one inside had just begun.