The Titans had fallen, but the devastation they left behind still pulsed like an open wound. The outer edge of the wall was charred from flares and scorched by the fires of retreat. The Survey Corps had already pulled back, regrouping. But there were still bodies on the ground—some moving, most not.

She shouldn't have been there. She was a civilian. But when she heard the retreat horns, and saw the scouts staggering through the smoke with blood-soaked cloaks and missing comrades, she couldn't sit by. Not when she spotted one—young, barely more than a boy—half-buried beneath the rubble, breathing shallow and unheard.

She didn't hesitate.

Mud and ash streaked her skin as she dug the scout out, his femur clearly broken, his arm twisted unnaturally. He groaned once—barely conscious.

"You're gonna be okay," she whispered, half to him, half to herself, as she heaved him onto her shoulders with a grunt. Every muscle in her body screamed, but she pressed forward—through the haze, through the corpses, through the carnage.

By the time she reached the fallback camp, her knees were shaking, and blood—his and hers—coated her arms.

She stumbled into the field tent, where higher officers were barking orders and pushing for cleanup.

A high-ranking officer spotted her. Captain Merz—rigid, regulation-obsessed, always "by the book," no matter how stained the book was with blood.

"You there! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Merz snapped, approaching as the medics pulled the scout from her back.

"This boy would've died out there!" she gasped, chest heaving. "He was left behind—"

"He was deemed unrecoverable," Merz barked, cutting her off. "We don't risk more lives for one half-dead body, especially not when civilians think they can play soldier."

Her stomach turned. Her voice cracked. "You left him to die. He's still breathing. He's a kid—"

"You don't get to question how the military operates," he spat, stepping closer. "You're lucky you're not being detained for interfering. You want to carry corpses off the battlefield? Fine. But don't pretend that makes you a hero."

The words hit her like a slap, not because they hurt—but because of how deeply wrong they were. Rage bubbled up in her throat, but before she could explode—

"Captain Merz."

That voice. Calm. Precise. Commanding. Like it wasn't asking—it was ending the conversation.

Merz straightened immediately, and turned. "Commander—"

Erwin Smith had arrived silently, the way he always did—like a shadow with perfect posture. His expression unreadable, his coat streaked with mud and blood from his own return.

"I saw what happened," Erwin said evenly, his gaze shifting briefly to her, then back to Merz. "That scout would've bled out if she hadn't intervened. I'd like to speak with her. Alone."

Merz hesitated, clearly wanting to object, but a look from Erwin silenced him.

The commander turned to her, his expression unreadable but... lighter, somehow. "Come with me."

The walk to the command tent was quiet. Tense. Until Erwin finally spoke again.

"You showed bravery. And more importantly—initiative. Most people freeze when they see a dying soldier. You acted."

She scoffed under her breath. "Didn't know that was such a rare quality."

"In civilians? Yes." His voice was matter-of-fact. "In soldiers? Sometimes even rarer."

She didn't respond. Her eyes were still locked on the muddy ground, remembering the officer's words. Remembering the weight of the boy's body. The feeling of being talked down to—dismissed. Like she hadn't done something worth anything.

"You're angry," Erwin said, not as a question. "Good. You should be."

She looked up at him, startled.

"There's no place for ignorance or pride on the battlefield. But there is a place for people like you."

He paused. Then added, "I want you to come with us. Just for now. You'll stay at the base, rest. When the time comes... we'll see if you're fit for more."

She blinked. "Why?"

"Because if you're going to throw yourself into hell," he said quietly, "you might as well be given the tools to survive it."