COTE x AOT: Ashes in The Sky

Carbonation!!

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Location: Stohess District, Wall Sina
Year: 845
Time: Early Morning

The pain in my leg had dulled into something manageable.

Superficial. If this were my world—the one I came from—I'd be walking at full capacity within the hour.

With proper facilities, I could've been fencing by noon.

But here?

Their medicine sits somewhere between field surgery and back-alley barbershop. And that's being generous.

Grisha did what he could. His fingers were steady, but the techniques... they felt about eighty years out of date. Late 1920s, maybe early '30s. Primitive antiseptics. Manual stitching. Things like that.

Still, he knew how to clean a wound and keep a leg functional.

For that, I'll give him credit.

I stared out the hospital window, still cracked slightly open from the night before.

"..."

Grisha hadn't said goodbye.

He just left.

He checked the bandage one last time. Said something half-mumbled about infection. Then pulled on his coat and left, mumbling one more thing about losing time.

I didn't ask him to stay. He didn't ask me to come.

The moment he left, I knew I couldn't waste time here.

Sure, I could sit around like a proper patient, wait for a nurse to bring stale bread and tell me to "stay off the leg."

But I already knew where he was going.

Trost District.

If the refugees from Wall Maria were going anywhere, it would be there. And if Eren, Mikasa, and Armin survived, that's where they'd end up.

And I had to know. Because Grisha... he didn't just disappear into the smoke. He passed on a burden.

He gave that boy, his son, something that's going to tear the world in half. Something he called a "Titan power."

And then he fed himself to his son, or was about to.

I sat up, slowly. My leg protested, but only slightly.

Before the nurses could do their rounds, I moved to the window.

The latch was rusted, but a little force popped it free.

The sill was damp. I put a hand on it, swung one leg out, then the other.

A second later, I was crouching on the narrow ledge, looking down at the alley below.

Two stories.

"..."

Manageable.

I tested my footing. Then eased myself down, gripping the edge and dropping the last few feet. My landing was muted.

The leg stung, but didn't buckle.

Good.

The hospital faded behind me as I moved through the side streets. I followed the drainage slope toward the river dock. The early vendors weren't out yet, either.

I also remembered the riverboat schedule.

If I were quick, I could make the next boat that could take me on a route to Trost.

I moved with a limp, but nothing obvious enough to draw attention. Most people here wouldn't spare a second glance at someone who looked like they'd had a rough night.

Still, my thoughts kept circling back.

Grisha.

The world. The key. The Titan.

The Founder...

And then... the children.

He left them with me, didn't he?

He didn't say it aloud. But the way he looked at me before he vanished said everything. That same hollow-eyed resolve I've seen on men trying to trick themselves into thinking they made peace with their actions.

He made a decision, one thing no parent should make.

Even my father... even he wouldn't have done something like that.

"..."

Probably.

I sighed and adjusted my coat as the boat came into view.

There was still time to catch it.

But no time to waste.

...

...

...

The boat rocked gently beneath me. My leg was beginning to stiffen again, but I didn't move.

I'd slipped onto the vessel during a crew change, just another shadow blending with early morning fatigue. No questions asked. No tickets checked. They had bigger problems to deal with.

For the next few hours, I rested.

The seats were hard, the kind meant for function, not comfort, but it didn't matter. Around me, conversation stirred like wind pushing through tall grass—thin, hushed, scattered.

"Did you hear? Wall Maria... completely overrun."

"That can't be right. They said the gate held for a century."

"I heard Titans just... appeared inside. Outta nowhere."

"Everyone's saying different things. No one knows what happened."

People repeated rumours like prayers, half-hoping someone nearby would contradict them, say it wasn't true.

No one did.

I kept my eyes forward. Ears open. People watching is easier when they think you're asleep. You learn how their minds tick. When panic sets in, when denial creeps up. When they give up pretending they're strong.

Time didn't move naturally. There were delays, course corrections, and detours. More than once, the boat paused to take on extra cargo—not goods, but crates of food, medical kits, sometimes livestock.

All rerouted for Trost.

Even our designated stop was cancelled.

The crew apologized once, then stopped trying. They just pointed toward the road and unloaded people in batches. Most complained. I didn't. I already had a plan.

It took an hour to find a usable carriage.

Unattended. Military-marked. But abandoned for now. Probably the owner had been reassigned or reassigned himself to survival.

I climbed aboard and started toward Trost.

By the time the walls came into view, I could smell the rot of overcrowded streets. Smoke, oil, manure, blood. The scent of collapse trying to disguise itself as order.

The gates were clogged. Civilians on foot, Garrison troops yelling to control the influx. I nudged the reins to slow the horse as a voice barked out—

"Whoa! Halt that carriage!"

A man in full MP uniform stepped out from the checkpoint. His eyes scanned me, narrowed slightly.

"Wall Sina citizen?" he asked.

I nodded once.

"Business?"

"Picking up children."

He blinked. "What?"

"Friends of mine," I said. "Their kids are inside. Alone. Once I heard about the fall, I'm more than sure their parents died. They lived right near the gate. I was thinking of taking them back with me. They'll be safer there."

"District's full," he muttered. "Even the Garrison's having trouble feeding everyone. We can't let people in for any reason unless it's official resupply or clearance from command."

I didn't argue.

Instead, I leaned slightly forward.

"Have you ever lost a child?" I asked.

He stiffened.

"Do you think they'd want them to stay in there?" I pointed beyond the gate. "In that chaos? Watching people starve? Beg for food? Listen to the screams at night?"

The other MPs nearby glanced our way, listening but pretending not to.

"You'd do the same," I continued, slowly. "If it were your brother's kid. Your best friend's. Or your own."

He looked away. Silence stretched, but only for a moment.

"Name?" he asked.

"...Kiyotaka"

He sighed. "You go in, you take the kids, you come back out. Understand?"

I nodded.

He turned to his comrades. "Watch the cart. I'll go with him to verify."

One of the other MPs grunted. "We're understaffed as hell, Doren."

Doren ignored him and stepped toward the carriage, climbing up beside me.

"You sure this is worth it?" he asked under his breath.

I didn't respond immediately.

"I don't do anything that isn't."

The reply ended the conversation.

We dismounted a few minutes later. The streets were too congested—carriages abandoned, people clustered together like sheep against the cold. The stench of unwashed bodies and open refuse pits clung to the air.

Beside me, the MP sneered. "They shipped us here to keep order. Now the Titans are at the gate. You believe that? Titans. I signed up to break up drunks in Utopia, not—this."

He spat into the dirt.

"..."

Refugees milled around in clumps—families clutching what little they owned, men shouting over rations, mothers with children too tired to cry. It was the same pattern I'd seen before. Desperation reduced to routine.

I scanned the faces. I didn't care about the crowd, not really. I just needed to find three of them.

Armin. Mikasa. Eren.

And maybe... a few others.

Grisha's voice echoed in my mind.

───

"They call it the Warrior Program. Marley takes children around Eren's age. Indoctrinates them and forces them to fight. They're brainwashed and even have Titans like mine. They're most likely here to take the Founder or wipe out all the Eldians on the island..."

I've had my suspicions, being here for around a year at this point. But having confirmation and even filled-in details makes it all the more irritating.

"If they're here... the ones who destroyed the Wall... they'd look like kids."

───

That narrowed things down. But not enough.

My gaze stopped.

There.

A bowl cut of pale blonde hair. Shorter brown. Long black. Standing with three others... talking?

I nudged the MP with my elbow.

"There. I found them."

He followed my gaze, nodded once, then groaned as someone shouted nearby. A fight. Two men were pushing each other near a ration crate.

"Go grab them," he muttered. "Bring 'em back here. I've got to break that up before it spreads."

He jogged off before I could answer.

I walked.

The closer I got, the more details came into focus. Eren was facing a taller boy with dark brown hair. Mikasa stood near him, arms crossed. Armin was in the middle, fidgeting. Off to the side stood a shorter blonde girl, arms folded and disinterested.

They looked like friends.

Or something close to it.

I stepped behind Mikasa and spoke calmly.

"You're all alive. That's good."

She spun on her heel. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Kiyotaka?! How—how did you get here so fast?"

"It took a while but... that's for later."

That drew the rest of their attention. Armin blinked at me, half-confused. Eren looked uneasy. Mikasa... relieved.

"Out?" Armin asked. "To where?"

"My place," I replied. "You'll stay with me until I find something better."

Mikasa nodded immediately. Armin hesitated, but didn't object. Eren glanced between them, then to the three others.

I followed his eyes.

The taller boy shifted. The blonde boy flinched slightly under my gaze.

The girl said nothing.

"Friends of yours?" I asked.

The blonde boy stepped forward, nodding stiffly. "Yeah. I'm Reiner. That's Bertholdt. And she's Annie."

"They're refugees too," Eren added. "They escaped Wall Maria like us."

"I see," I said, studying them.

All three were in good shape. Too good. Balanced posture. Rough hands. Their clothes were weathered, but their bodies weren't.

"Must've been a traumatic experience," I said. "For all of you."

Bertholdt lowered his head. Annie said nothing.

Reiner gave a short nod.

I turned my thoughts inward.

There was no reason to act or accuse anyone right off the bat. Not yet. But every piece of information counted. Grisha gave me a good foundation to work with, but it was still very broad.

Information extraction will come when their walls have been broken down. Then I'll determine if they're innocent, which probability is leaning toward.

But you can't be too sure.

I looked back at the group.

"You three," I said, addressing Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie. "Come with us as well."

They all blinked, surprised.

"Huh? Wait, really?" Reiner asked, totally expecting to be left behind.

"Kids don't belong in refugee camps," I said. "I'm not doing this out of kindness. You'll earn your keep. Work for what you eat."

Reiner glanced at Annie. She shrugged. Bertholdt looked hesitant, but followed their lead.

"R-Right!" Reiner said. "Thanks."

I didn't reply.

We walked back toward the carriage. The MP was waiting, hands on hips, his jacket now smeared with someone else's blood.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Six kids?"

"They're all family friends' children," I said.

The Military Policeman didn't look convinced, his eyes flicking from me to the six kids now grouped together behind me. His brows dipped slightly, mouth opening as if he'd ask something else.

But he didn't.

"Just get 'em out of here before they start a food riot," he muttered, waving me through with a tired hand.

We moved quickly. The carriage wasn't far.

"Up," I gestured as we approached it.

Reiner, without being asked, moved to the front beside me.

A little eager, or maybe just trying to be helpful.

Either way, I didn't stop him.

Bertholdt paused at the carriage door, one hand on the edge. He looked at me, hesitating, then offered an awkward smile.

"Uh... thanks for... y'know. Taking us with you. I don't know how we'll—how I'll repay you."

Mikasa's voice came from behind him.

"Were you not listening? He expects us to work."

Bertholdt blinked, then nodded several times. "Right. Of course. Sorry."

He climbed in, followed by Annie, then the rest—Armin, Mikasa, and Eren.

The MPs gave a last wave, one of them offering a half-hearted "Safe journey," before fading into the distance behind us.

The carriage creaked forward as I flicked the reins gently.

For a while, it was peaceful.

The wheels rolled over uneven stone roads. Small homes gave way to open fields. Grass swayed gently under the wind.

Inside the carriage, they talked.

Not much, but enough.

Mostly small things. Where they were from, if they remembered the name of their neighbour's dog. Armin and Bertholdt did most of the talking. Or rather, Armin asked questions and Bertholdt sputtered through responses.

He wasn't good with eye contact.

He kept glancing around, as if trying to gauge what was acceptable to say...

He was probably the nervous type.

Eren and Reiner surprisingly got along well. Mikasa didn't speak unless spoken to. Annie said next to nothing unless she had to—her tone was always flat.

If she was trying to copy me already, we'd have a problem.

I'm joking.

The hours passed. We shared dried bread and water near noon.

And then, the quiet came.

Even Bertholdt stopped talking.

I kept my eyes on the road.

Reiner cleared his throat beside me. "Can I... ask something?"

"You can."

He hesitated. "Why'd you help us?"

I didn't look at him. "You mean you three?"

"Yeah. You didn't know us. We're just kids from Wall Maria. Not your friends' kids. So why?"

He sounded genuinely curious, perhaps a little bit confused at the same time.

I thought about lying. But there was no point.

"Those three," I said, motioning slightly back toward the carriage, "need to learn how to form connections with others. I've been trying to get them to make friends."

I turned just enough to see his reaction.

Reiner stared at me, eyebrows raised. "...That's it?"

"That's it."

"..."

I should've worded that better.

Then, from behind us, Annie's voice cut through.

"That's stupid," she said bluntly. "You're making them work too, aren't you? What kind of work?"

Why the confrontation? I'm not going to kill you unless you turn out to be Titans.

"I work at a bakery," I said after a moment. "The salary isn't enough to feed six mouths. You'll need to contribute."

I felt her leaning closer, likely just enough to be heard.

"What kind of work do you mean?"

"I have a few places in mind," I said. "A friend of mine handles deliveries. Another needs help with cleaning. It won't be complicated."

There was silence. She didn't seem satisfied.

"I don't like the idea of setting a group of kids on the path to poverty and starvation," I added. "So I made a choice. Taking you with me, no matter the burden, was the better option."

She huffed.

"That's a dumb way to live," she said. "People take advantage of kindness like that."

I didn't rebuke it.

"If you plan to," I said, "you should take this opportunity seriously. You might not get another one."

Annie didn't reply.

But I heard the shift of weight in the carriage—someone leaning back hard against the wooden frame.

Reiner scratched the back of his neck.

"Don't mind her," he said quickly. "She's just had a rough few days. We all have. She gets grumpy when she's tired."

"I understand," I said.

We fell back into silence.

Ahead, the walls of Orvud District rose in the distance.

I kept my eyes on the road.

And eyes on the kids.

"..."

Seeing the future is an odd ability for a Titan to have, Grisha, but only fragments of it?

Much odder.

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Words: 2721

Author Notes:

I AM GOOD WITH MY UPLOAD SCHEDULE!