Unfortunate fate

Dark clouds gathered over the Shiganshina district, casting long shadows across the small homes and cobbled streets. A sense of unease lingered in the air, weighing down on the Ackerman household, where silence had taken hold after Alaric's abrupt departure. The only sounds left were the hushed breaths of Mikasa and her family, each feeling the absence he had left behind like a fresh wound.

Mikasa stood by the window, her small hand resting on the rough wooden ledge, fingers tightening with worry as her eyes scanned the empty street beyond. She couldn't erase the final words she'd said to Alaric before he ran, the tension and hurt lacing every syllable. A pang of regret twisted in her chest, a feeling that was rare and unfamiliar to her.

Just then, the creak of the door broke the silence, and she turned to see Yuuta slipping on his coat. His face was set with determination, lips pressed into a hard line, and his eyes carried a quiet resolve that spoke louder than any words.

"I'll go find him," Yuuta announced, his tone calm yet firm as he looked over at Kurumi and Mikasa. "He can't have gone far."

Kurumi's gaze softened with both pride and worry as she regarded her husband. "Be careful," she murmured, her hand reaching out to brush his arm, grounding herself in his presence. "It's getting late, and he… he might not want to be found right now."

Yuuta's expression softened, and he gave her a reassuring nod before glancing over at Mikasa. He crouched down to her level, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "I'll bring him back, Mikasa. I'm sure he just needs some space. Sometimes… sometimes people need a moment alone to sort things out."

Mikasa nodded slowly, though the uncertainty in her eyes didn't fade. She glanced back out the window, her fingers still clutching the ledge as she watched Yuuta disappear into the evening shadows, his figure growing smaller until it was swallowed by the trees lining the edge of Shiganshina.

---

The hours dragged by, stretching out in silence as Mikasa waited, the ache in her chest growing heavier with each passing minute. She kept telling herself that Yuuta would find Alaric, that he would come home any moment with the quiet boy trailing behind him. But as the night deepened, her hope began to flicker, dimming like a candle on the verge of burning out.

Eventually, the sound of the front door creaking open reached her ears, and she jumped to her feet, heart racing with a mixture of hope and fear. But as Yuuta stepped into the room alone, his face lined with exhaustion, her heart sank.

Kurumi rose from her seat, crossing the room to meet him. Her eyes held a question she was almost afraid to ask.

Yuuta shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I couldn't find him," he admitted, his voice heavy. "I searched everywhere I could think of, but he… he's gone." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "But I think… I think he'll come back on his own. Sometimes, people just need time to work things out."

Mikasa's lips trembled as she stared at her father, feeling a deep sense of guilt settle over her. She looked down, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Kurumi watched her daughter carefully, sensing the turmoil beneath her silence. She moved to sit beside Mikasa, her gentle hands guiding her to sit as well, her fingers brushing Mikasa's hair back from her face.

"Mom," Mikasa's voice was barely a whisper, and she looked away, her gaze fixed on the floor. "It's my fault he ran off. I… I shouldn't have said those things. I was just so mad, i didn't know that he would run off because of something that I thought was not a big issue, it was just a sweet and now... he's gone." Her voice broke, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Kurumi's expression softened, and she wrapped an arm around her daughter, pulling her close. "Mikasa," she began, her tone gentle but firm, "it's natural to feel anger sometimes. What you feel isn't wrong. But remember, Alaric is hurting too. He carries his own burdens, ones we may not fully understand." She paused, allowing her words to sink in, her gaze warm and steady. "You didn't drive him away, my dear. You just spoke your truth, and that's important."

Mikasa's gaze lifted, searching her mother's face for reassurance. "But… what if he doesn't come back?" Her voice was barely audible, as though saying the words would make them true.

Kurumi's hand moved to hold Mikasa's, her thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. "If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that people always return to the places they feel safe. Alaric may be lost right now, but he'll find his way back." She paused, her gaze distant for a moment. "And even if he doesn't, we have to trust that he'll find his path, in his own way."

Mikasa nodded slowly, her mother's words easing the knot of guilt in her chest, if only slightly. But a lingering ache remained, a quiet sorrow she couldn't fully shake.

Kurumi studied her daughter's expression, seeing the maturity and conflict in her eyes, a reflection of her own struggles. She decided it was time to share something with Mikasa, something that had been passed down through generations of her family, a symbol of strength and resilience.

"Come here," Kurumi murmured, holding out her hand. Mikasa reached for it, her smaller fingers fitting snugly within her mother's grasp. Kurumi's eyes softened as she lifted their joined hands, showing her daughter the small, intricate mark etched onto their skin—a mark that held both history and mystery.

"This mark," Kurumi began, her voice gentle yet laced with pride, "it represents something very special. Something that runs in our family… a strength, a spirit, that can't be broken."

Mikasa looked at the mark, her brow furrowing with curiosity. "What does it mean?"

"It's a symbol of who we are," Kurumi said softly, brushing her thumb over Mikasa's hand. "We're part of something much bigger than ourselves. It's a reminder that, no matter what challenges we face, we carry the strength of those who came before us." She paused, her gaze meeting Mikasa's with a quiet intensity. "And it's a reminder that we're never truly alone."

Mikasa stared at the mark, a newfound respect and curiosity filling her gaze. But before she could ask more, a sharp, unexpected knock at the door shattered the moment, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Yuuta's brow furrowed as he rose to answer the door, a sense of unease creeping over him. "Stay here," he murmured, glancing back at Kurumi and Mikasa. He crossed the room, his steps cautious as he reached for the door handle.

The door creaked open, and Yuuta squinted into the darkness, the dim light casting shadows over the figures standing on the doorstep. There were three of them, tall and broad-shouldered, their faces obscured by hoods. Yuuta's hand tightened instinctively on the doorframe as he eyed them, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.

"Yes?" he asked, his tone calm but wary. "Can I help you?"

One of the men stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. Before Yuuta could react, the man's hand shot out, and a glint of metal flashed in the dim light. The knife plunged into Yuuta's abdomen, a sickening, wet sound filling the air as he gasped, stumbling backward.

"Yuuta!" Kurumi's scream cut through the night, her voice thick with terror as she rushed forward, her eyes wide with horror.

Yuuta collapsed to the floor, clutching his stomach as blood seeped between his fingers, staining the wood beneath him. His vision blurred, and he could hear Kurumi's desperate cries, feel her hands on his shoulders as she tried to stop the bleeding.

"Mikasa, Kurumi… run," he managed to choke out, his voice weak and strained. "Go… hide."

But Mikasa couldn't move, her body frozen in place as she stared at the blood pooling around her father, her mind unable to process the horror unfolding before her.

The men pushed their way into the house, their footsteps heavy and purposeful as they advanced toward Kurumi and Mikasa, their faces shadowed and expressionless.

Kurumi's gaze turned fierce as she shielded her daughter, her hands steady despite the fear twisting in her stomach. "You don't belong here," she spat, her voice laced with defiance. "Leave my family alone, what do you want from us."

One of the men sneered, his eyes cold as he regarded her. "We're here for a reason. We wonder how much money you and your daughter would fetch us."

Kurumi's jaw clenched. She wasn't sure what was coming, but she knew one thing—she would protect her daughter with every ounce of strength she had.

"Mikasa," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "remember what I told you. You're stronger than you know."

The words lingered in the air, a quiet promise, a final vow as the intruders closed in, their shadows stretching across the floor like dark tendrils reaching out to consume them.