AOT SI-Ch.1 (Patreon)

Chapter 1

A hundred years ago, a great war erupted in the Eldian Empire. It was a deadly affair that was unlike anything ever seen in history. The war was between people closely related to the King himself, and it would cause so much strife for the King, seeing his own kin turn on one another, that he would give up his own empire.

That man was King Fritz, and with a cabal of loyal men and women, he would leave for an isolated island, renouncing war and leaving behind only an empty threat as he wished to spend his last days in peace. The King’s vow of renouncing war would be strong and passed along from generation to generation until it fell onto the shoulders of one Uri Reiss.

Uri Reiss, brother to Rod Reiss, the true King of Paradis, sat beyond the tranquil lake at ease as he ruled over a caged and ignorant empire. Yet today, he did not sit alone, he was joined by a boy, a noble whom shared his own blood.

“You do know that one day they will come for us,” the young boy began. They had conversed for many times now, as he would accompany her in his respites. Yet teh boy was different than others his age, he was ahead of them, cursed with knowledge just like himself.

His chilling eyes carried a burden, one that once Uri had wished to carry.

“I do,” he answered, there was no need to lie to him, he was too bright for that.

“You would have them slaughter us,” the boy’s words made him grip his cane tightly.

“It is the price we must pay for the sins of our ancestors,” and the young boy scoffed at those words.

“It has been a hundred years since you locked yourself on this island. Tell me, have wars ended all over the world? Have your actions brought the world an everlasting peace,” his words had no indignation.

“The answer is no. And you would have the millions living here die for your own sanctimonious beliefs. You would have them all slaughtered as cattle because of your guilt-ridden conscience,” the boy said as he looked him in the eye.

“Perhaps you could make a different choice, overpower the oath that binds me. My time will end. I wouldn’t mind passing on this burden to you...” the boy shook his head.

“I am afraid I will have to reject your offer. While a part of me believes that I could perhaps overpower the vow that binds you, I cannot risk humanity's future on a hunch. I renounce your vow, renounce it. I will not let the people of Paradis be slaughtered as cattle because of your own guilt. I will not let them die without giving them a chance.”

“I am afraid I cannot let you do that. We must atone for our sins,” he said weakly as he stood up.

“I am but a boy born a few years ago,” the young boy answered as he stared into his eyes.

“I have no sins.”

On that day, many would grow distraught as the announcement of a young noble child’s death would be made. Many would mourn his death, including the true King beyond the Wall and even his eventual successor, his niece, Lady Freida.

That day, Orion Kurtis would die, and one Icarus Smith would emerge, out of thin air.

0000

ERWIN SMITH

Humans were curious by nature, few more so than others, and that curiosity led them down paths that they wished they would never traverse, paths that would alter their whole lives.

He had been curious as well, questioning the hows and the why’s of the world around him, soaking in the answers his father would provide. He would understand little and would continue to ask questions about their strange existence, about the world they lived in, about the dangers that surrounded them, and about the histories so obscured from them.

In a world surrounded by walls, Erwin Smith wished to have the answers. He wished to see beyond the walls that surrounded them all, encircling humanity and protecting them from the Titans that aimed to devour them all. Yet he wished to go beyond these walls, to see the world outside.

And for that, he must understand how humanity lived before these walls, what the world was like, and in that quest in a regular class, he would ask his father that question about the histories so lost to them.

Yet, unlike all the times before, he would get no answer, so his father somewhat ignored the question and moved ahead with the lecture in the classroom. And then they would come home, only the two of them, his mother now long dead. The only thing he could recall of her was a warm smile and the broken parts of a lullaby she had once sung to him.

And in the confines of his home he would get the answer. No. Not an answer, but a theory, a theory of how the King had erased humanity’s memories, altered them to make them more docile, as he confined them behind these walls.

Yet why were the walls made? How were they made? There were so many more questions that bubbled into his mind, and in his excitement, he would forego his father’s warning of keeping this theory to himself and would share it with his friends, trying to stimulate their curiosity, to find someone to talk to.

The other children cared little for his words and questions, and the adults would pay little heed to a boy, all except one man. A colleague of his father, who would admonish him greatly for speaking such nonsense, a contrast for the young man, would often indulge him quite a bit.

And he would only learn of the reason later as he would one day find men searching for his father before he would be taken away, never to be seen again. He would wait, hoping for his return, yet days would pass, and he would have to come to terms with the reality that his father was not coming home. That he was dead, and it had been him who had caused his death.

He would be rife with guilt, unable to eat anything, and then days later, the doors to his home would open once again, and hope would bubble once again, only to be crushed as he would see the figure that had just walked in.

For it was not his father. No, it was his assistant, the man who lived a few houses from them, the very man who had chastised him for his actions, for sharing his father’s theory so openly.

He was drunk, his sole eye swollen as he walked in with what seemed to be a plate of food in hand, as Erwin found himself sobbing, even though his tears had long run dry.

The man would not utter a word and closed the door behind him and plopped down beside him, as he put the plate of food infront of Erwin.

“You knew this would happen,” he challenged, and the older man did not say anything at his accusation.

“You knew they would come for him. That is why you warned me!” he struck again, recalling the sheer vehemence with which the man had chastised him for his actions.

“You should have told him! Told me! We could run, go into hidi....”

“Who is to say I did not?” the man answered as he took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it up with a single flick of his lighter.

“And even if you tried, there was no hiding from them. Not for both of you, and so your father chose to do what a parent must do for their child, so do not tarnish his sacrifice,” the younger colleague of his father commented as he pointed towards the food with his gleaming cigarette.

“Eat,” he said, and Erwin felt his stomach rumble in hunger. He had not eaten in days as he sat there rife with guilt.

As the words began to make sense, he was enraged. His theory had just been confirmed by the man with the eyepatch, Icarus. He recalled his name—a boy who flew too close to the Sun.

It was ironic, in a way, for at that time, he resembled the fabled boy much more than the man beside him.

“Who?” he asked. As his theory was confirmed, Erwin’s fists balled up, masking the rage that bubbled underneath.

“Eat,” Icarus answered, not paying attention.

“Tell me! Wh....”

“I will,” he answered as he looked him in the eye. His sole eye had always been strange, irregular in color. A striking red, with red dots in it.

“But only when you are ready. Until then, you must wait and live. For that, you must...” He again pointed towards the food, which had gotten colder, as the steam coming out of it simmered down.

“...eat,” he asked again, and Erwin ground his teeth, already aware of Icarus’s stubbornness.

“When will I be ready? Tell me, what do I have to do to get my answer?” he asked.

The man put the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply before flicking the reaming part to the side. He got up and began to walk towards the door as he gave him an obscure answer.

“You will know when you are ready.”

How? He wanted to ask. Yet he left closing the door behind him with parting words.

“I will be back in the morning with breakfast.”

THUNK!

0000

Ten days earlier, the resident school teacher, John Smith, found himself sitting across one of his past students, one of the brightest minds he had taught to this day.

“You do know that soon they will come for me,” he said as he drowned the whiskey from the flask, uncaring how it burnt his throat.

“You could run. I would help you,” and the teacher shook his head.

“I will not rob Erwin of his future because of my mistake. No, I will not run, for if my theory is correct, it would be futile. The resources at the disposal of those who wish to get rid of me are enormous. Running would be futile,” he answered, as he cupped the flask, keeping his sobriety, for he wished to keep himself sober for what was to come next.

“You always warned me of this, the stories you used to tell of that young boy, the one who shared your name,” he began as he looked up at the young boy, a few years older than Erwin. He had been amongst his first students, a bundle of curiosity and intelligence much like his own son.

“Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the Sun. You were trying to warn me,” he finished, and the young b-man took a sip from his own flask as he nodded and clicked his tongue.

“This world is simply too cruel. I wished to change your fate, change much more. Yet it seems I was just delusional, too optimistic,” he said with a scoff that would suit someone thrice his age.

Yet only now did he understand that it was less intelligence and more something else—something he did not know what to call it.

“Then, as a last favor to a dying man, would you indulge a question of mine?” he asked, and his former student nodded, even though he doubted there was much he had taught the young man.

“Tell me....” he began, the drunkness now long gone from his speech as he looked him in the eye.

“Tell me the truth of this world.”

0000