Lost innocence

Grisha's footsteps echoed in the early morning quiet as he and Eren made their way down the dirt path toward the small, modest home that belonged to the Ackermans. The sunrise bathed the village in a soft, golden light, but a chill hung in the air that neither of them could shake. Grisha walked with purpose, his eyes forward, while Eren followed, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze scanning their surroundings with the practiced indifference of a boy who didn't care for formal visits.

Grisha glanced down at his son, his tone calm but carrying an undertone of encouragement. "The Ackermans have a daughter your age. Her name's Mikasa. You should try to get along with her."

Eren shrugged, looking unimpressed. "It depends on her," he replied dismissively, kicking a small stone along the path.

Grisha sighed, shaking his head in a fatherly mixture of patience and exasperation. "That attitude, Eren, is exactly why you don't have any friends—besides Armin." There was a gentle reprimand in his voice, softened by the hint of a smile.

Eren's face hardened, and he shot his father a look. "I don't need any more friends." His tone was defiant, stubborn, and utterly convinced of his own words.

Grisha let out another sigh but chose not to press the matter. Instead, he strode up to the Ackermans' door and knocked, his fist hitting the wood with a firm, confident rhythm. He paused, listening for any sounds inside, but was met only with silence. Frowning slightly, he knocked again, a little louder this time. Still, there was no answer.

Eren shifted impatiently beside him, eyes wandering off toward the distant trees. But before Grisha could knock a third time, the door creaked open on its own, swinging inward just enough to reveal a dark, still interior. A chill slid down Grisha's spine, the silence now unnerving in its weight.

"Stay here," he instructed Eren, pushing the door open further as he cautiously stepped inside. The first thing that struck him was the smell—metallic, faint but unmistakable. Blood.

Grisha's eyes swept over the room, and he felt his stomach drop. Just a few steps in, he saw them—Yuuta and Kurumi, lying on the floor, their bodies covered in dried blood. Kurumi's eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, a dark gash running from her shoulder to her neck, while Yuuta lay beside her, a dagger still embedded in his abdomen.

"No…" Grisha's voice was a broken whisper, the sight striking him with a force that left him momentarily paralyzed. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as he reached out to check for any sign of life, some miracle that he knew deep down wouldn't be there. But their bodies were cold, their skin pale, and the faint hope he clung to vanished like mist in the morning sun.

Eren, drawn by the tension in his father's voice, peered over Grisha's shoulder, his face contorting with a mix of shock and confusion. "Dad…they're…they're dead, aren't they?" His voice was almost mechanical, as if he couldn't quite process the gravity of the scene before him.

Grisha nodded slowly, his hands shaking as he closed Kurumi's eyes. "Yes, Eren…they're gone." He swallowed hard, his mind racing, but a question cut through the haze of shock. "Do you see Mikasa? She should be here…"

Eren looked around the room, scanning the shadows and corners, but there was no sign of the girl. "No," he said quietly, his voice strangely subdued. "She's not here."

A pang of fear hit Grisha, sharper than before. "Stay here," he said, his voice steadying with determination. "I'm going to find the garrison police and get help. Don't leave this spot."

Eren nodded, though his eyes never left the bodies of Yuuta and Kurumi, his expression unreadable as he struggled to make sense of the horror unfolding in front of him. Grisha turned to leave, his steps urgent, but just as he reached the doorway, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from outside, growing closer.

Grisha stopped, his body tense, as the door swung open wider, and a boy stepped inside, a small, fragile-looking girl at his side. The boy's gaze was steady, unflinching as he took in the scene, his face pale but calm. His hand was firmly clasped around the girl's, guiding her forward as though protecting her from the nightmare they were all entangled in.

Grisha felt a jolt of recognition as he looked at the boy—the dark hair, the serious eyes. This was Alaric, the boy Yuuta had spoken of with such warmth, the child he'd found in the woods and taken in as his own. But now, Alaric's gaze was somber, haunted even, as if he bore a weight far beyond his years.

Eren's eyes narrowed as he looked at the pair, curiosity and a hint of suspicion flaring up. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone blunt and unfiltered.

Alaric's gaze shifted to him, unperturbed by the question. "I'm Alaric," he replied, his voice quiet but steady. "Yuuta…he took me in."

Grisha felt a pang of sadness at the mention of Yuuta, the man who had shown such kindness to this boy. "Alaric," he began gently, his gaze moving to the girl at his side, her face pale and stricken with grief.

Alaric nodded, his grip tightening protectively around her hand. "Yes," he said softly. "I…I got here as fast as I could. But…" His voice faltered, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

Grisha knelt down, his eyes level with Mikasa's, who stared back at him with a hollow, haunted look that tore at his heart. "Mikasa," he said gently, his voice as soothing as he could make it. "I'm so sorry for what's happened. You're safe now, and we're here to help you."

Mikasa didn't respond, her gaze shifting down, her fingers curling tightly around Alaric's. She looked small, fragile, as if the weight of her grief was more than she could bear, but Alaric's steady presence beside her seemed to anchor her, keeping her from collapsing under the strain.

Alaric looked back at Grisha, his face calm but his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken resolve. "I'll take care of her," he said quietly, a promise embedded in each word. "They're…they're gone, but she's not alone."

Grisha nodded, his own heart aching with the knowledge of the loss these children had endured. "Thank you, Alaric," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Yuuta would be proud of you."

Eren watched the exchange in silence, his gaze flickering between Alaric and Mikasa with a mixture of curiosity and something else—an unspoken understanding of the pain they were carrying, the invisible scars that now bound them together.

As they turned to leave, Grisha placed a reassuring hand on Alaric's shoulder. "Come with us," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We'll make sure you both have a safe place to stay. You're not alone anymore."

Alaric looked back at the small, quiet house, a flicker of sorrow crossing his face before he nodded. He gave Mikasa's hand a comforting squeeze, and together, they followed Grisha and Eren into the dawn, leaving behind the shadows of a broken past and stepping into an uncertain future, bound by loss, but not without hope.