The year was 844.
The Yeager household now held four people—two adults and two nine-year-old children.
In just a few years, Eren had grown noticeably stronger. His eyes no longer held the same childish dependence, and he'd become increasingly rebellious.
"I said I don't wanna eat anymore!"
Eren had barely taken a few bites of his porridge before leaping up to change into his outdoor clothes. Grisha had promised to take him out today, and the excitement made him restless.
"Sit down and finish it first!"
Carla pulled her son back to the table, her grip firm but motherly.
"Look at Sandra—she finished her food like a good girl!" she added, patting Eren's head with a smile.
Eren pouted and turned away, still eager to get ready, but he grudgingly obeyed.
I had already finished the warm breakfast Carla had prepared. Over the years under the Yeager family's care, I had grown healthy.
My cheeks were no longer sunken, and my skin had become clean and fair. Long chestnut hair trailed down my back.
Today, I too was going out. Grisha had invited me to join.
Eren finally gave in, quickly scarfed down the remaining porridge, and ran off to change.
"You two forgot something!" Carla called after us. She walked over, holding two red scarves in her hands.
"Here, Sandra..."
She gently wrapped the handmade scarf around my neck. It was identical to Eren's.
"Thank you..." I murmured.
In all these years, Carla had given me what I'd yearned for most—motherly love.
She treated me no differently from her own son. She praised me when I did well, corrected me when I made mistakes, and held me with warmth I had never known.
She ruffled my hair gently, smiling.
Eren, meanwhile, had already thrown his scarf on with barely a glance.
"Really now, that's so messy..." Carla muttered, moving to fix it for him despite his grumbles.
"Safe travels. Give my regards to the Ackermans."
She embraced Grisha tightly before letting go.
"Alright, Sandra, Eren, let's go."
Grisha led the two of us away from the house. Eren hurried to match his father's stride, and I followed close behind.
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"Sandra, remember—you can't tell anyone what I told you, especially not Mom."
Eren sat beside me in the carriage. As we rumbled toward our destination, his voice was serious.
"I know."
I nodded.
He was talking about his dream of joining the Scout Regiment—something he had confided to me just days ago during a walk through the Shiganshina District.
Eren wasn't exactly popular. His temper, impulsiveness, and lack of tact made him hard to get along with.
He had only two real friends: Armin Arlert, and me—Sandra Gant.
"What are you two whispering about?"
Grisha had just finished checking his satchel and closed it with a snap. He looked at us with a father's playful suspicion.
"Nothing!"
Eren straightened up instantly, eyes darting to the window as rain began to tap against the glass.
I remained quiet.
I was always the quiet one.
And I was always grateful.
The Yeagers had given me warm clothes, three meals a day, and—most importantly—a home.
But a few nights ago, Carla had said something that left me dazed.
"Sandra... if you ever want to call me Mom... that's okay."
Her voice had been soft, welcoming.
It felt like permission. Like acceptance.
But I hadn't known what to say.
Because I did have parents—somewhere. But the Yeagers had treated me with more love and dignity than those people ever had.
Even so, I continued to call them Mr. and Mrs. Yeager.
"Ah, we're here."
Grisha peered through the curtain as the carriage came to a stop.
Rain poured down from a grey sky.
We were at the base of a hill.
Grisha led us up the slope, his doctor's satchel tucked under his coat.
He was here to visit the Ackerman household, where the lady of the house had fallen ill.
"Eren, Sandra, there's a little girl at the Ackerman home. Her name is Mikasa."
We trudged through the mud under our rain cloaks, and soon, a small wooden cabin came into view.
"Mikasa?"
Eren repeated the name, his face scrunched up in confusion.
It sounded unusual. Different from the names we usually heard.
"Yes. She's your age, and there aren't many children around here. Be kind to her. Make friends, alright?"
Grisha knocked gently on the door and turned to Eren with a smile.
Eren lowered his head, thoughtful.
"That depends on her attitude."
He was always strong-willed. Not the type to befriend just anyone.
"That's exactly why you don't have many friends, son..."
Grisha sighed.
He knocked again.
But there was no response.
"Are they out?"
He turned back and knocked once more.
"Mr. Ackerman? It's Dr. Yeager. Is anyone home?"
Grisha tried the handle. The door creaked open.
It hadn't been locked.
He pushed it wider.
Then he froze.
"Dr. Yeager?"
I tilted my head, confused by the way he stood there, motionless.
Eren looked just as puzzled.
"What's wrong, Dad?"
But Grisha didn't answer.
Cold sweat dripped down his temple.
We couldn't see what he saw—until he opened the door all the way.
The scene inside was painted in red.
Blood soaked the floorboards.
Two bodies lay sprawled across the wooden planks, throats slashed. Arterial blood had sprayed across the walls, staining the cozy cabin in gore.
Grisha composed himself quickly and rushed to examine them.
He checked pulses, eyes, breath.
But it was already clear.
The two people lying in the blood were the Ackerman couple.
And they were dead.
I felt like I had been thrown back to the underground.
That iron scent in the air, the way the blood pooled across the floor—these were things I hadn't seen in years.
I shivered.
I had grown soft under the Yeagers' care.
But now, the past had clawed its way back.
Eren stood frozen.
He had never seen anything like this before.
The grotesque, lifeless bodies stunned him into silence.
"Sandra. Eren. Look around the house. See if their daughter is here."
Grisha's voice was firm now.
We nodded and began searching.
We combed through the small house, room by room. But Mikasa was nowhere to be found.
Eventually, we returned to the front door.
"Did you find anything?"
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