Vivienne packed her clothes into a small cupboard. She shared the wooden cabin that would be her home for the next three years with four other girls. Funnily enough, one of them was the same girl who had been made to run laps outside as punishment for eating a hot potato.
Everything here was made of wood and relatively simple—a stark contrast to the furniture and architecture she was used to at home.
A voice cut through the air.
"Who would have thought that the nobles would be so kind as to join us poor peasants in battle?"
A tall, slender young woman with short, shaggy dark brown hair, parted down the middle, stood before her.
Vivienne turned, brows furrowing. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Tell me, have they given your family more money? Or is this all a social experiment to see how well someone from the upper class performs? Did your family lose a bet or something?"
Her eyes darkened. She could understand the suspicion towards her, but it still made her angry to hear such words—especially when no one really knew her.
That was true… Nobody knew her. Perhaps no one ever truly would. Not even her own family understood her.
Two Months ago
Her father’s hand slammed down on the dinner table.
In all these years, he had never looked at her with such frustration, disgust, and anger as he did now.
Her mother nervously poured more tea into her cup, while her older brother sat tensely, gripping his fork but not eating.
"Vivienne! You can't talk about people like that!" her father shouted.
Unimpressed, she met his glare. "Why? Because it's the truth?"
"Vivienne!"
She gritted her teeth. How many times had they argued this week?
How many times had he raised his voice?
Slowly, these confrontations were becoming routine.
Her uncle, Ètienne, had given his life because he believed they could live in a world without walls.
But every time she walked down the street, and someone spotted a product from her family's company, they laughed, whispered, sneered. Called him an idiot. His name was nothing but a joke to them.
And every time she stood up for him, she’d find herself here again—sitting at the dinner table, being told off.
A scene played out over and over again.
Repeating. Endlessly.
And that was when she realised—the walls would probably never disappear.
Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts.
"Your behaviour is getting worse and worse. It’s almost as if your mother and I never taught you any manners."
Vivienne’s jaw tightened. "Is that so? Have you ever given a single coin to the Scout Corps to support your brother? Have you ever done anything when someone spoke ill of Uncle Ètienne?"
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Her voice had risen.
"Stop talking to me like that!" her father snapped. "That’s not how we brought you up!"
Vivienne looked down, fingers curling into fists.
Why was it so unfair?
Why didn’t he understand?
Hadn’t he always promised he’d be on her side?
Then why?
Why was he so blind? Why did he refuse to see—or to listen?
He always left a gap open in the door to his office so he could hear her, didn’t he?
Didn’t that mean he wanted to listen?
Her brother sat back in his chair, watching her with something close to amusement. Condescending. Mocking.
She snapped her gaze up, her next words spilling out like venom.
"Oh really? Then you’re going to love this— I’ve enrolled in the Academy. I’m going to be a member of the Survey Corps!"
Silence.
Her mother’s teacup slipped from her fingers, crashing against the saucer. Tea seeped into the elegant tablecloth. Her brother’s fork clattered to his plate.
Her father’s expression froze, his face blank with horror.
Her mother put a trembling hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.
Vivienne’s gaze softened for a moment, but her decision was made. She stood, turning her back on them, ready to leave the room.
Then her father spoke.
"If…" His voice was quiet. Cold. "If you join the Survey Corps, you must be aware of the consequences."
Slightly confused, she turned back to look at him. Her emerald-green eyes met his—the same ones she had inherited from him.
"Once you step out that door and leave home to become a Scout, you are no longer my daughter."
Vivienne’s breath caught.
She had expected anger. Had expected him to yell.
But this?
Her mother let out a broken sob, her back trembling as she turned away.
Vivienne clenched her jaw.
"So be it," she whispered. And she walked out.
"Don't be so mean! I'm sure she has her reasons for being here, just like all of us!"
The voice snapped Vivienne out of her thoughts.
A blonde girl with sky-blue eyes stood before her, holding out a withered daisy.
"It fell out of your pocket," she said with a warm smile.
Vivienne hesitated. Uncle Ètienne’s birthday present. The flower that came from outside the walls.
She reached out. "Thank—"
Her fingers brushed against the girl's skin.
And suddenly—a strange sensation flooded her senses.
Darkness.
A shiver ran down her spine.
A loathing face.
A crystal cave.
Harsh words.
Despair.
Grief.
Pain.
Too many images. Too fast. Her breath hitched.
Please! We haven't even talked about it yet!
Vivienne sucked in a sharp breath and snatched the flower from her hand.
The blonde girl frowned, concern flickering across her face. "Are… are you all right?"
Vivienne’s emerald gaze locked onto hers.
"I'm fine…" she murmured before tilting her head. "Tell me… have we met before?"
The girl blinked in surprise. "Not that I can think of…"
Then, she offered a small smile.
"Oh, by the way, my name’s Christa. And that's Ymir over there. Don't mind her too much."
Vivienne’s gaze flickered to Ymir, who stood with her arms crossed, clicking her tongue in irritation.
Her eyes drifted back to the daisy in her palm.
What… had just happened?