Thirteen Years | P. Galliard

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** This story will involve some level of spoilers, please proceed with caution. Also a lot of this story involves adult scenarios (i.e.: war, blood, gore, death, etc...) Despite this, I will try my best to balance out dark themes with more soft, wholesome ones. Please enjoy!

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Prologue
Seven years ago

Things were scattered across the wooden floor in a frenzy: cups, plates, cutlery, papers, chairs, all laid on the floor, some pieces broken and cracked. His older sibling tried to stop the boy's rampage; however, you stayed put and watched. Porco's pale knuckles were bloody and bruised from throwing and hitting everything in sight. All the young boy could see at the moment was red. You watched as his older brother finally got hold of him, grabbing him in a hug and not letting go. Porco struggled against it, his fit of rage unending from the yellow armband that should've been red. You couldn't seem to move as you watched the scene in front of you unfold; Porco's thrashing around, eagerly trying to escape his brother's grip, seemed to have no end in sight.

"It's not fair!" He screamed, "Reiner never deserved the Armor and everyone knows it!" The young boy's voice cracked at the end, holding back tears as he continued to yell. Grey eyes locked with yours as he struggled against his brother - the pain was evident. Marcel tried to ease his brother's anger; telling him it was alright, he could live a longer life, and he would still be an honorary Marleyan, but the blonde wouldn't listen. He was so young and full of hope, but it was stripped away from him when he was forced to keep the yellow arm band. Forced to remain a candidate.

"Let him go," you mumbled, catching Marcel's attention. But he ignored you, his brother was still in no state to be released. "I said let him go, Marcel," you spoke firmly. Your words held a certain authority that frightened him, and he hesitantly let his younger brother go. But the blonde's rage wasn't over, his eyes flickered to his brother who took a step back from him. His brother who now had a red armband, just like the five other candidates - except him. His pale hands met with his brother's chest and shoved him, Marcel being pushed into the table. Finally, you took a step forward, and another, until you were in front of the younger brother who was staring down the eldest.

You wrapped your arms around the male, embracing him. It wasn't harsh, nor rough, you held him gently, hugging him. You felt the boy's body suddenly tense from your action, he was taken back. But this was the final crack in the dam that held back his tears. He didn't reciprocate your embrace, but he welcomed it as hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. A small sob racked his body before he leaned his head on your shoulder, the sleeve of your shirt becoming damp. You held him a bit tighter as he cried, he had never shown this amount of emotion in front of you, or anyone, before. You stayed silent, as did his brother, and let the boy cry out his pent up emotions. "I have to spend the next thirteen years alone. . ." he cried.

His words made you pull away, the suddenness of it taking him by surprise. His eyes were red and his cheeks wet with tears as he looked at you. "You have me," you spoke quietly, "just because I wasn't a candidate doesn't make me any less of your friend. I'll still be here."

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1
Present Day

The red armband he wore was in stark contrast to your own gray one as you walked side by side. The street was dirty and unkept, having to step over litter every now and then. The buildings you passed were the same, they were old and run down. The internment zone was nothing like the outside; however, you couldn't remember how beautiful the outside was. The only time you saw the world beyond the gates was at six years old; the Warrior program allowed Eldian children the chance of inheriting the power of the Titans - you however did not make the cut. Long days of running, fighting, and training resulted only in returning back home, not a candidate and not an honorary Marleyan.