Was this real?

Step.

Was this a dream?

Step.

She'd had dreams like this.

Step.

More times than she could count, she had dreamed of seeing him again.

Step.

Even if this was real, even if she wasn't dreaming, was this really him?

Step.

It looked like him.

Step.

She knew that boy on the bench.

Step.

She knew that lithe frame. She remembered that dark hair. That jawline was etched in her mind.

Step.

Those lips were seared into her soul.

Step.

But...

Step.

She had been wrong before.

Step.

So many times, she had dreamed of something like this, of seeing him again.

And not only in her dreams.

Step.

For years after his death, she saw his shadow everywhere.

He was the bird in the sky.

He was among the children playing in the streets.

For years, every young man in uniform was him, and she'd flinch away in shame when she realized it was but another hallucination.

Another false hope.

Was this just another delusion?

Step.

Her advance slowed.

This world, this hell, had been a renewal of that delusion.

For months after her reincarnation as a devil, she had run away from reality.

She had searched desperately for a hint of Eldia, of Titans, of anything that would prove this was still the world she knew.

The world they had fought for.

The world her child and grandchildren lived in.

The world he had died for.

The world where they were to be buried together.

Step.

She hadn't been well.

Looking back, she could see that she had been in shock.

Without support, friends, her son, or even Armin to rely on, she had once more succumbed to her grief.

It was supposed to be over.

Even if they never got to live together, they were supposed to be able to rest together.

And so she had searched for familiarity in an unfamiliar world.

She had found the place closest to her memories, in the island nation of Madagascar, near a lone tree on a hill, and lived the life of a hermit for months.

All while ignoring everything that didn't line up with her little delusion.

The mountains were in the wrong places. Madagascar was too small to be Eldia. She could speak languages without ever having learned them.

Her body was young again, despite the fact she had been reincarnated as an old woman.

She ignored it all to live a life alone, tending to an empty grave under that tree.

Step.

It had been Serafall who was responsible for snapping her out of it, if unintentionally.

Despite rejecting everything the magical girl had said and done, despite wanting nothing to do with the impossibilities of the new world, the Satan hadn't wanted her new Pawn to be defenceless in a world she was unfamiliar with.

Serafall had, as a way of protecting her from the church, declared Madagascar her new Pawn's territory. Now, she wouldn't be killed by exorcists as a Stray devil in a primarily Christian country.

An air of legitimacy, even though she had never once performed the duties of an actual territory lord.

Serafall had been unaware that the generation's Red Dragon Emperor called the island nation home.

And dragons were fiercely territorial.

Step.

She would have died.

Should have died.

A newly reincarnated devil against a realized Red Dragon Emperor? \

It didn't matter that she was once a great soldier. It would have been an execution.

Only the arrogance of a dragon saved her from dying within the first few months of her new life.

'A member of a Satan's Peerage would surely be a great challenge,' or so the dragon in human form had thought.

The grieving woman hadn't cared about the challenge at all.

She didn't want to fight anymore.

All she wanted to do was be left alone with her grief, loneliness and pain.

The Red Dragon Emperor had taken her passivity as an insult.

Insults, threats, even a few injuries. Anything to get the fight they wanted.

Nothing moved her.

Nothing could really hurt her.

She was numb.

She was already in hell.

Step.

The Red Dragon Emperor made a mistake.

In another effort to provoke her, a blast of power had destroyed the home she had built. With the Boosted power of the Red Dragon Emperor, it also destroyed the neighbouring area.

Including the tree on the hill and the empty grave below it.

The delusion shattered.

It was over so fast.

The arrogant woman had dropped her guard after her victim's continued passivity. She had expended her Boosts in the blast.

Her mouth was open, ready to taunt some more.

The small knife, a tool for cooking, severed the Red Dragon Emperor's spinal column as it stabbed into her neck.

Neither woman understood what had happened, staring at the small blade covered in blood.

One pair of eyes gained light as the other darkened in death.

She had stared at that small blade covered in crimson for over an hour.

She had stared at the corpse of a woman who couldn't have existed in her home world.

She had stared at the rubble of a random tree, a random building, and an empty grave.

It was all that was left of a delusion.

The tears fell.

For the first time since she had become a devil, she had chosen to fight.

Step.

Even though she rarely drew her blades, she had been fighting ever since.

Step.

Was that fight finally over?

Step.

Her speed, so fast as to be invisible to the naked eye, had slowed to a hesitant, frightful walk.

Step after step, she had inexorably approached the boy on the bench.

Each movement of her foot, every press forward, had been slower than the last.

Her final step, silent as the grave she was once buried in, brought her in front of the boy napping on the bench.

She stood there, staring down at the sleeping form.

Her hands shook, urging her to reach out and shake the boy awake.

She followed the urge, reaching out as she had done a hundred times before.

And froze.

She was terrified.

What if she was wrong? What if this was not him and someone with the same name and body? What if this was just a huge coincidence?

Or worse, what if this was just another delusion?

It was impossible. So incomprehensible as to not even be the product of her most fevered dreams.

He was dead.

He looked almost the same as when they had rescued him from Marley's rubble, but was she just projecting?

He was dead.

She had killed him.

Eighty years. She had not seen him in eighty years.

He was dead.

She had no pictures of him, no paintings or anything to remember him by but the scarf around her neck.

She could be wrong.

He was dead.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She didn't think she could handle being wrong.

Not again.

It would break her all over again, and who knew how long it would take her to pick up the knife again.

But... she also couldn't handle not knowing.

Not fighting.

She needed to keep fighting.

How would she know if this was him or someone who looked like him?

...His eyes.

That's how she'd know it was him.

She'd never be wrong about his eyes.

A small blade appeared in her hand.

That small blade swung with the surety of a woman who was prepared to kill her heart one final time.

Her blade did not sever a single strand of hair.

Bandages fell to the bench.

The silent approach, the lack of any threat, and the safety of his location had kept him deep in slumber, but not even the sleeping boy could fail to feel that.

He woke slowly.

He always did, unless startled.

She always had a hard time waking him from his naps.

She watched, the small blade hanging limply from her hand.

Reality had become even more surreal as she caught sight of those curving marks, placed at regular intervals, that surrounded his eyes.

She wasn't breathing, she realized.

She didn't care.

From her teleportation to the human world to this moment, barely a minute had passed, yet time seemed to stand still as the boy woke up.

Mikasa Ackerman looked into the eyes of Eren Yeager.

His gaze, hazy from his nap, met hers.

"Why are you still wearing that?" Eren asked, his voice gentle and regretful as his hand rose to cup her cheek.

Mikasa was crying, she realized as Eren's thumb wiped the tears from her cheek.

"I told you to throw that scarf away."

It was too much.

It was all too much.

This was Eren.

Mikasa didn't know how.

Mikasa didn't care how.

This was Eren.

Her Eren.

The same boy who had wrapped this red scarf around her neck almost a century ago.

He was real.

He was alive.

He was here, with her.

Mikasa did something she wished she had done so much sooner.

With tears streaming down her face, Mikasa kissed Eren.

It was soft.

So soft as to feel like a bird's feather across her lips.

It contained everything she wished she had said and done.

A lifetime of love and yearning and loss.

And he kissed her back.

It felt so right.

Nothing was more important than this kiss, in this moment, on this bench.

Then, the moment passed.

The dreamers awoke.

Eren pulled back as he let out the tiniest hiss of surprise.

Two pairs of eyes looked down to where Mikasa's small blade had fallen from her hands.

There was the tiniest slice along his thigh, cutting through his pants and leaving a thin red line of blood.

They both stared at the wound in shock.

Eren's eyes, no longer clouded by sleep, stared at the cut, and then they moved.

Slowly, oh so slowly.

Eren looked at the woman in his arms and finally saw her.

His mouth opened, but no words escaped.

Mikasa's eyes remained fixed on the bloody thigh as it started to steam and heal.

In those seconds of realization for the both of them, neither said a word.

This was not a dream.

This was reality.

With all its cruel beauty.

Mikasa sprang into action, pieces coming together in her mind as she had a horrified realization.

She grabbed the mute boy by the shoulders and stared into his wide eyes.

"Are you still a shifter," she asked, begging the boy on the bench. "Can you transform?"

"You're... really..."

"Eren! Please!" Mikasa pleaded. The tears of joy had turned into something bitter, yet the tears still streamed from her eyes and blurred her vision. "Please! Are you still the Attack Titan? The Warhammer? Founder? How long..."

Do you have left?

Mikasa couldn't ask that. Not here. Not now.

Not when she had just found him.

Not when she didn't think she could handle the answer.

"How..." Eren was still in shock, looking at her. At her scar. At her eyes wide with panic and tears. "Why..."

Mikasa didn't answer.

Without hesitation, she pulled a small case from the storage tool Serafall had given her to house her weapons.

Mikasa had never planned to use these, but at this exact moment, she could only thank Serafall for insisting she carry them.

Pulling slightly away from Eren, she flung open the lid and grabbed one of the objects inside, tossing the rest away without a care.

The chess pieces rolled in the dirt, dully glowing with demonic power.

"I don't have time to explain," Mikasa said intensely, thrusting the Queen piece forward. "This will help you."

"Wha-"

"It's magic," Mikasa interrupted. "I don't really understand it, but it's magic. Magic is real. This can save you. Please, Eren, trust me."

"You're... a devil?" Eren asked, dumbfounded as he looked at the Evil Piece in her hands.

Mikasa felt a surge of relief, glad he already knew the basics.

"Sona explained it?" She asked, hopeful. Eren's expression warped further in confused bafflement. "It doesn't matter. Take it. It can heal you. You don't have to..."

Mikasa didn't say the rest. Couldn't say the rest.

She just thrust the Queen piece against Eren's chest.

Serafall had told her most Kings had some ceremonial chant, but all that was needed was some Demonic Energy.

Mikasa didn't have that, but Adjuka Beelzebub had made her Pieces, especially for her, and it was actually Serafall who provided the magical power through her own Pawn piece.

They should work so long as she held them against the chest of the being she wished to reincarnate for at least a few seconds, so long as the body was intact.

The Evil Piece glowed and...

And nothing.

The glow faded from the Queen piece.

"Please, Eren," Mikasa begged. "Please don't fight it."

Eren didn't say anything, finally regaining something of his calm as his mouth set into a grim line.

"Please," Mikasa cried, pressing more forcefully to the Piece. "You can hate me all you want. Just live. Please don't die. Not again. Fight!"

"Mikasa."

"You know I won't take your freedom. You know I won't. Please, Eren, fight!"

"Mikasa."

"Is it because I killed you? Hit me! Kill me! Hate me! But don't die. Please. Never again."

"Mikasa!"

Eren's shout startled her, and she flinched.

It gave him a moment to seize her and pull her down to the bench with him, wrapping his arms around her.

The Queen piece was still pressed ineffectually between them.

Eren held her there on the bench as Mikasa wept.

Wept in joy to see the boy she loved once more.

Wept in sadness for their inevitable parting.

Why?

Why was the world so cruel?

"I first connected to the Path at six, almost thirteen years ago," Eren said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I have less than a year left."

Mikasa froze, and then her body started to shake with renewed sobs.

"You weren't there," Eren explained as he defended himself. "I looked. For years, centuries, I looked. Not you, not Armin, nobody. Nobody was in the Path but me. I was all alone."

"I'm a devil now," she said, still pressed against him. The familiar smell and feel of him sent waves of nostalgia through her even if the tears still flowed. Eighty years, and he was still the same. "I have been for nineteen years."

"Who is," Eren asked slowly, as if afraid of the answer. "Who turned you into one?"

There was a familiar rage in his voice, and Mikasa was confident she just had to say the word, and he'd unleash his everything to free her.

She couldn't allow that.

Not only would Eren lose, but Serafall didn't deserve that rage.

"Serafall Leviathan. She-"

"Sona's sister?" Eren interrupted, voice incredulous. "I thought she only had one piece?"

"Behi- Behemoth is the one people know about," Mikasa explained hurriedly, stopping herself from using Serafall's shorthand for the Magical Beast King of the Earth. "I don't leave my home often. Barely anyone knows about me, even among devils. And Serafall doesn't make me do anything. She supports me and doesn't ask for anything in return. She's helped me a lot. I wouldn't be here without her."

Finally pulling away from Eren, no matter how much she hated it, Mikasa met his eyes again.

"Please, Eren," Mikasa begged him to understand. "Please let me reincarnate you. I can finally save you."

Over the years, she had often wondered how much he would have hated the Peerage system, but now, she didn't know any other way to save him.

In her wildest dreams, she imagined having the Evil Pieces back when she was a soldier, giving them to Eren, Armin, and even their old cadetmate Ymir so they didn't need to fear the Founder's curse.

The change in race might have prevented them from being Titan Shifters, but she didn't care.

No longer would they be cursed to die in thirteen years.

Even Annie, Reiner, and Pieck might have been brought over to their side if they no longer had that terrible deadline hanging over their heads.

Even if they ignored a devil's enhanced longevity, without the thirteen-year limit, no longer would there be a need for Historia or her children to turn and eat Eren so that the Founder and the threat of the Rumbling wouldn't be lost.

With the Evil Pieces, they could have lived long, happy lives.

Together.

"I..." Eren paused, biting his lip. Then he sighed, sagging against the bench. "I didn't fight you."

"...What?" Mikasa asked, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"I thought I was dreaming," Eren said slowly. "When we... kissed. Then, when I realized I wasn't, I thought this was an illusion. A fake created by someone. But you know too much. Stuff I've never talked about. Ever."

He was looking at her, at the scar on her cheek.

The scar he had given her.

Even in their old world, Eren had never spoken about the scar, too ashamed of his lack of control.

Of hurting her.

Even when she instinctively used a devil's minor shapeshifting ability to return to her youth, Mikasa never removed that scar.

Mikasa's hands tightened around his. Emphasizing she was real. That she was here. With him.

"So... I didn't fight your Evil Piece," Eren explained slowly as if talking to himself. As if he didn't believe it. "I would have if you had tried a year ago, but not now. Not after meeting everyone. Not for you."

"But it didn't work," Mikasa muttered lowly, her voice laden with horror and sadness. "Why didn't it work?"

"I... don't... know," Eren said slowly, but it was clear his mind wasn't on the Queen piece.

Instead, he was staring intently at Mikasa.

He still didn't believe she was there, that this was real.

Mikasa was right there with him, still feeling like she was in a dream, but she was able to focus on the danger to Eren's life.

It couldn't be because he was Eldian and they were from another world, as she had been turned into a devil.

It also couldn't be a power issue.

Due to her lack of magic, her pieces were based on Serafall's. Adjuka Beelzebub had considered it an exciting puzzle to get Evil Pieces to work for someone with absolutely zero magic, which was physically impossible in this world. He had finagled it to work through her Pawn piece, connecting her to her King.

So why? What was different?

Why couldn't she save Eren?

"...You never answered," Mikasa realized. "Are you still the Founder?"

Eren hesitated, and Mikasa's heart sank.

She should have known. Each of the Nine Titans had different Shifting Mark patterns. Scars in the skin where they connected to their Titan bodies. Usually, they healed after they were disconnected from the massive bodies, but there had been one exception.

Eren had both the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan for years, but only once he consumed the Warhammer Titan did the Shifter Marks around his eyes turn permanent instead of healing after some time.

Armin had believed that the more of the Nine Titans one held, the more their physical bodies would be affected. There had been no way to prove that since Eren was the first Titan Shifter since Ymir the Founder to hold two of the Nine, let alone three.

If Eren could heal himself but still had those marks around his eyes, that would mean he still had all three.

The Founding Titan was the closest thing their world had to a god.

Mikasa closed her eyes, and the tears started to flow again.

Why?

Why were they here?

Why would they be able to meet again, just to eventually be separated once more?

Was this world not cruel enough already?

Mikasa heard Eren shift, moving slightly, but he did not wipe her tears again.

Instead, Eren's hands rested against the scarf around her neck.

"You never answered either," Eren's voice was whisper-quiet as he unwound the red scarf from her neck.

He held it gently in his hands as he looked down at the Piece of fabric that had defined her life for so long. It looked like he was comparing it to the one in his memories.

"Why didn't you throw this away?"

"I couldn't."

Not when he said those terrible lies to her, breaking her heart.

"I can't throw it away."

Not when he turned against the entire world, becoming the Devil all Eldians had been accused of being.

"...How long has it been for you? Since..."

Not when her sword had severed his head from his spine.

"Eighty years."

Not when she had tried to move on a decade after his death.

"...Were you happy?"

Mikasa hadn't even been able to leave the scarf behind when she went to her final resting place.

"We were."

Thanks to you.

"We all were."

Thanks to the terrible things we had done.

"We lived long, happy lives."

Thanks to the death of eighty percent of humanity.

We, the ones who benefited from your genocide, lived long and happy lives.

"...I'm glad," Eren's voice cracked as his hands ran along the red fabric.

Mikasa couldn't see his face because of his long hair, but she could hear the relief in his voice.

His whole body shook, and large wet drops fell on the scarf.

Mikasa understood.

At this moment, Eren wasn't sad that he was going to die.

He was not grieving that he only had a year left. He was not cursing the world's cruelty for reuniting them only to pull them apart later.

Eren was happy.

So happy that it brought him to tears.

"I'm so glad," Eren cried, his whole body shaking with waves upon waves of emotion.

He had never known what would happen after his death.

He set things up as best he could, but there was no guarantee that they would turn out as he hoped.

For all he knew, they'd die only minutes after him, and all his crimes and suffering would be for nothing.

Hearing it from Mikasa, hearing that his selfish wish had been fulfilled, relieved him more than words could express.

"I'm so glad."

Glad that all his sins, all that blood and death and hatred, had done some good for the people he loved.

Glad that the Devil had done one thing right.

Glad that the lone choice of a lost and angry boy who had never known freedom had been the right one.

It was not the right choice for the world, morality, humanity, or even his home.

But for them.

For the small handful of people, he had managed to save.

Eren looked up at Mikasa again.

His grey eyes were filled with tears, yet they were clear.

Eren was looking at Mikasa.

Not the future or the past, but the Mikasa here and now.

She realized it then. Even if Eren still held the Founder, he didn't have anyone with royal blood in this world to allow him to use that power.

He was no longer trapped by a future he couldn't change.

His vision was unclouded for the first time since the award ceremony after reclaiming their home.

Slowly, oh so slowly, with trembling hands, Eren lifted the long red scarf to her.

As if asking if he even had the right anymore.

Mikasa leaned forward slightly, presenting her neck.

"I'm glad," Eren repeated. His hands moved slowly, but all the shaking stopped. Movements he would never forget. "I don't know why. I don't know how. But I'm glad you're here. No matter how long I have left, I am glad we could meet. I'm glad that you didn't throw away this scarf."

Eren finished wrapping the scarf around Mikasa's neck.

"Thank you," Eren said softly, resting his head against hers. "For being here with me."

"Thank you," Mikasa smiled through the tears. "For wrapping this scarf around me."

"I'll.." Eren choked, but the tiniest, infinitesimal hint of a smile curved his lips even as his tears joined hers. "I'll wrap you up in it again."

So much was still unsaid.

Questions and confesions.

Answers and explanations.

Words of love and guilt. Of moving on yet remaining chained to the past.

None of that mattered.

The whys and hows could wait for later.

Today, here and now, they were together.

They were alive together.

Right now, they didn't care for the cruelty of the world.

Only its beauty.

Wrapped in a red scarf, two lost souls reunited on the bench.