The moment he obtained the power of the Founding Titan and the Attack Titan, a massive flood of memories crashed into Roger's mind like a broken dam.
Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through him.
His pupils shrank, and for an instant his consciousness blurred.
In that single heartbeat, it felt as though he had just witnessed more than two thousand years of history.
He knew this was the power of the Attack Titan.
But even so, he still couldn't untangle these intertwined, chaotic memories.
Amid that muddled haze, a few harsh, piercing shouts stood out clearly in Roger's ears—and etched themselves into his mind.
—"How could the King turn out like this?!"
—"Are we really doing something just?"
—"Marley… I'm the one who destroyed Marley. They didn't even have the power to fight back…"
—"Whatever, just kill. Why overthink it?"
—"I'm so tired of this!"
—"It's been thousands of years… It has to end!"
—"Andersen, I'm sorry, I love you too. But I have to do what I must. Will you help me?"
—"I just want it all to end."
—"Watch closely, Grisha. This is how the power of the Titans is meant to be used."
—"You must protect Mikasa and Armin."
…
Countless scattered memories, like a tangled ball of threads, forced their way into Roger's mind.
In such a short time, there was no way for him to sort them out, so he could only set them aside for now.
But just as he did—
a girl's voice suddenly sounded from behind him.
"You've returned."
Hearing the voice, Roger turned and realized he was standing on ground made entirely of sand.
Like a beach—only with no sea anywhere around.
Instinctively, Roger thought of the park in the internment zone where he and Pieck had once built sandcastles.
Now, it had been turned into a crematorium. Every day, weeping Marleyans in mourning passed that way—after collecting corpses from the internment zone, they took them to their graves.
A girl stood in front of Roger.
She was barefoot, wearing a torn, rough-spun dress.
Clutching the hem of her skirt, her face flushed red as she looked up at him.
"You're… the Founding Titan, Ymir?"
Almost instantly, Roger called her by name.
He had far, far too many memories of Ymir.
Even though this was the first time he had actually met her, every inheritor of the Founding Titan throughout history carried some memory of her.
But unlike them, none of them had ever heard Ymir speak.
Roger was the first Founding inheritor to hear her voice.
Her voice wasn't much different from that of most young girls, except for the way insecurity and fear softened it into something shy and delicate.
"It is I, Master."
Bare feet sinking into the sand, she walked toward him, leaving behind a trail of tiny footprints.
Hearing her call him "Master," Roger was confused for a moment—but then he understood.
The original Ymir had been born a slave; her way of thinking was nothing like that of modern people.
On top of that, she had served "the Kings" for over two thousand years.
That deeply rooted "slave's instinct," carved into her bones, made words like those seem more than possible.
Calling him "Master" was only natural.
What Roger didn't expect was that the girl would slowly come closer, press her legs together, and kneel in front of him.
Even more unexpected was when she reached out her small hands, wrapped her arms around his thigh, and pressed her young face against his leg.
"I've waited far too long for you, Master," she said. "I've been so lonely… but I never took a single step away."
"Then tell me this—do you still remember my name?"
Roger asked on purpose.
From the memories passed on by the Attack Titan, he knew the one Ymir loved had been the first King Fritz—that cruel, merciless Fritz.
If Ymir called him by the wrong name and mistook him for the first Fritz—
then everything might make sense.
Ymir lifted her small face, troubled.
"To speak your name directly would be a grave disrespect."
"It's fine. I'm giving you permission. If you don't call me by name, I'll actually be upset."
"Very well. Ymir understands." She nodded, hesitated for a few seconds, then finally spoke: "Your name is—Roger…"
Hm?
Roger's brows knit.
When did she ever meet me?
But Ymir hadn't finished.
After saying half the name, she continued:
"…Fritz."
…
"?"
Roger was baffled. "What did you say?"
"Ymir said: Your name is—Roger Fritz."
"Roger Fritz?"
"Yes. Is something wrong, Master?" Ymir tilted her head, eyes full of confusion.
Roger thought for a while.
All the while, Ymir's hands gently stroked his thigh, her gaze filled with almost doting affection.
"In your eyes… who am I?"
As he asked this, Roger studied Ymir closely.
Not understanding why, Ymir hesitated, fear flickering in her eyes.
"Don't be afraid. Just say what you think," Roger reassured her.
Only then did Ymir relax a little.
"You are Ymir's Master, of course."
"And besides that?"
"…You are the 'King of Eldia'."
"King Fritz? The first King Fritz?" Roger froze. "How could I be the first King Fritz?!"
That made no sense at all!
I'm only in my teens—how am I supposed to be the first King Fritz?
What on earth happened?
Roger dove into his own mind.
He began searching through the memories related to the first King Fritz.
Strangely, he had the memories of every other King Fritz—from the second, to the third, the fourth, the fifth… all the way up to the 145th King Fritz—Karl Fritz.
Everything was there.
Except the first.
Didn't that all but mean that he, Roger, was the first King Fritz?
But how could that be?
"Master, what's wrong? Do you need Ymir to serve you?"
Sensing her Master's troubled mood, Ymir spoke up anxiously, her voice timid and pitiful.
"That won't be necessary."
Roger gave a small shake of his head and reached out his hand toward her, meaning to help her up.
Seeing her Master extend his hand, Ymir's heart leapt with joy. Her face turning an even deeper shade of red, she carefully nestled her small hand into his large one.
She was every bit a young girl; her body and face both had yet to fully mature.
So thinking, Roger gently pulled her up from the ground.
The girl straightened up. Perhaps feeling the warmth of the one in her heart, her small head barely reached his chest—yet she buried her burning face into it and began to sob softly.
Suddenly having this little girl bury herself in his arms, Roger sighed, patting the top of her head and softly rubbing her back as she trembled with emotion at their reunion.
"Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Ymir."
Roger comforted her—as if, in doing so, he was repaying the debt left behind by the first King Fritz… even if he suspected that King might be himself.
"Mhm~"
Ymir whimpered like a small animal, pressing her face deeper into his chest. Her little hands clung tightly to Roger and refused to let go, even for a heartbeat.
"Is that so?" Roger murmured, stepping quietly into the light before him.
"Yeah…" he said.
The sharp arrow was yanked free from the Female Titan's nape, dragging blood that splattered across her back.
Seizing the chance, the Armored Jaw Titan drank down all of Annie's blood.
Its eyes turned the same brilliant blue in an instant.
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