Chapter 24 - Motive to Continue

                                        

                                              



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Location: Under Reiss Chapel, Wall Rose
Year: 845
Time: Late Afternoon








What do you do when someone's about to turn into a giant, man-eating monster?
No, seriously.
Not metaphorically. Not "my boss is a monster" or "my ex is emotionally unstable." 
I mean: a real, several-storey-high flesh monster with the muscle mass of a horse stable.
Do you run?
That would be the obvious choice. But... consider the size. Consider the reach. Consider the speed—because apparently, Titans aren't just tall, they're unnervingly fast.
So... fight it?
Hell no.
I'm not suicidal. I like living. I enjoy sleeping. Food's decent when I have the time to appreciate it. And statistically speaking, I've been through enough in this life to satisfy the "life-or-death" quota for a while.
So that leaves me with a problem.
Because if I don't intervene, if I just disappear into the shadows, I'm not just saving my own life—I'm abandoning learning more about all the information I just absorbed. Everything Grisha said. Everything Frieda revealed. Titans. Memories. Founding powers. Eldians.
The whole architecture of the world I've fallen into.
And worse... I'd be accepting Grisha's vision... him killing everyone like it was the only option. 
That it all unfolds the way he says it will. 
That the future is set in stone.
No.
Not yet.
I glance up and seemingly perceive the world in slow motion.
Frieda raises her hand toward her mouth. Delicate fingers, proper care... Her eyes have that purple hue again—the not-quite-human gleam that screams "not in control."
That's how they do it, then. Self-injury. Some trigger response is hardwired into Titan shifters. She's not just going to argue back. 
She's going to transform.
And Grisha—he's holding that scalpel so tightly I can see the vein bulging in his wrist.
They're both going to do it.
Both of them.
One to protect the world through annihilation. The other is to destroy the last living part of a royal bloodline.
This will get bloody. Fast.
I—
Move.
I spin on my heel, eyes fixed on Grisha, and my legs tense.
My boots squeal slightly against the crystal underfoot. Air rushes past my face. In that second of motion, in that sliver of instinct, I remember their faces.
Ludwig. Victoria. Catherine. Frederica.
The noble children at the Winter Gala. Distant, elite, untouchable...
Or so I thought. They have thoughts, feelings, desires... and are capable of reaching out of the palace in which they grew up and into the lives of the common people.