If you can't guess what abilities the MC has, I seriously can't help you, it's so obvious. Anyways, nothing besides the MC has been affected, the AOT universe is still the same...for now. I also don't like feeding you guys information, so have fun figuring out everything.
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The carriage wheels creaked to a stop just outside the main gate.
Grisha stepped down, murmured a thank-you to the driver, and handed over a few coins—more than needed. He pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and placed his hat firmly on his head. The wind carried a bite that clung to the back of his neck like a bad memory.
He made the walk home in silence.
Another long day.
Another clinic full of broken limbs, feverish children, and whispered conversations about the rumors beyond Wall Maria. Some days, he felt more like a hearse driver than a healer.
The house came into view. Warm light poured through the windows. A comfort. A warning.
He didn't remove his coat as he entered.
Instead, he went directly to his study, sat at the desk, and began writing.
It wasn't a letter. Not really.
He told himself they were notes. Doctor's notes.
That's what he always told himself.
But the truth was, they were thoughts—loose, frantic thoughts clawing their way out of his mind, onto paper, into structure, into sense.
The quill scratched softly against the parchment.
Lately, I've been seeing visions again. Unclear. Distorted. But… familiar. Faces I know. Places I shouldn't. Blood. So much blood.
His hand tightened.
I know my mission. But I wonder, more and more, if the path I've chosen leads to salvation or ruin.
His mind wandered.
To Kaelen.
That boy.
That quiet, silver-haired boy who had appeared in his life one day—his own doing, and yet it had never truly felt like his choice. Even now, he couldn't explain it. It had been like breathing—natural, automatic. Unquestionable.
And yet… now that years had passed, the feeling hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown heavier.
He knew Kaelen was different. There were moments—small ones—where the boy's gaze held something ancient. Something aware. His emotions were muted, but Grisha suspected that was a defense, not a defect.
He thought of Eren.
He thought of Zeke.
He thought of what he had done—what he was planning to do.
And still, when he looked at Kaelen, he felt nothing but... love. Unearned, maybe. But love nonetheless.
Even if I went back… I think I'd still adopt him. No matter what I saw. No matter what it costs. That's the part that scares me most.
He lowered the quill.
The parchment felt heavier than paper should.
Grisha stood, left the study, and quietly locked the basement door behind him. Always locked. Always.
He reached the hallway just as the front door creaked open.
"Mikasa, Eren, Kaelen," he called gently.
"Back," Eren replied, voice already halfway to the kitchen.
"We got the eggs and milk," Mikasa added.
Grisha smiled faintly. He heard the sound of groceries being unpacked, Kaelen's usual quiet hum as he set things on the counter, and Eren's running commentary about how Hannes smelled like pickles.
The table was set. The lights were warm.
Grisha exhaled and reminded himself to be present. Even if the world outside was already beginning to fall apart.
...
Mikasa tied her scarf a little tighter.
It had loosened during the walk home, but she always wore it when the sun started to set. Not because it was cold. But because it helped her feel… grounded.
It had been years since her parents died. Years since that night in the forest when everything had changed. Since then, the Yeager home had become her home. Miss Carla—Mom, now, made sure of that. She cooked, hugged, spoke softly, and always made space for her. Always treated her like she belonged.
Dr. Yeager was different. Kind, yes. But distant. Quiet. She understood why. He didn't speak much to her. But when he looked at her, he never looked away.
It was enough.
She stood beside the stove, stirring a pot of broth and slicing vegetables with calm precision. Kaelen was setting plates. Eren was already at the table, tapping his spoon against the wooden surface with complete disregard for rhythm.
The noise didn't bother her anymore.
Kaelen, on the other hand, was frowning slightly.
"You're going to wear a hole in the table," he said flatly.
"It's my spoon," Eren replied.
"Which your mother paid for."
"Still mine."
"Fascinating logic."
Mikasa sliced the last carrot and added it to the pot.
Kaelen moved behind her, setting down silverware, perfectly aligned.
She watched him without turning.
He was always like that.
Not cold. Just far away. Even now, after years together, it felt like Kaelen stood behind a glass wall. Present, helpful, teasing at times—but never truly in the room.
Still, she had come to depend on his quiet nature. He kept Eren grounded. Balanced.
She just wished Eren would listen to him more.
Especially today.
"Why did you go to the Garrison again?" she asked aloud, not looking up.
Eren groaned. "Not you, too."
Mikasa didn't respond.
She didn't have to.
"I just like seeing what they're up to."
"They're drunks."
"They're soldiers."
Mikasa stirred the pot.
Kaelen handed her a bowl without comment.
More than anything, she was still worried about Eren's dream. About the way his eyes lit up when he talked about going beyond the Walls.
He would get hurt out there. He would get killed.
And Kaelen… Kaelen wouldn't stop him.
He might even help.
Mikasa sat down at the table, scarf still around her neck, the steam from the soup brushing against her cheeks.
Eren was grinning now.
"Pancakes! Yes!"
It was his favorite. Carla always made them when he came home after a long day.
Mikasa smiled, just a little.
Today has been a fun day.
But she knew.
Fun never lasted long in this world.
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[Author: Yo. So I've got a whole skill tree for the protagonist, I wish I could show you guys...I mean, I could, but that'd require me to spend 2 minutes of my time and like...that's way too much!]