Eruri Stories

Three deaths

(Levi's p.o.v, talking about Erwin)

The first death was subtle. It was the day his eyes lost their glow, unable to wear something other than a look of melancholy that dulled his once vibrant blue eyes. His posture slouched, exhaustion visible in his uneven shoulders that hung off-centered due to the lack of an arm. His body was sore and forever tired, yet his broken mask still worked to hide his first death. Erwin's guard had yet to fully lower itself. As he sat there at his desk, he dared to smile and even laugh at my threats concerning his partaking in the fight against the Beast Titan.

Oh, that man.

Sometimes he just pisses me off.

I know I cant save Erwin.

He is too goddamn stubborn for his own good.

-

The day came when Erwin's mask finally fell, shattering before me.

It was the day he had lowered his head with a sigh and sat down helplessly on a crate. He asked me something, his voice sorrowful. These words I will never forget.

Can you see them? Our comrades?

Yes, Erwin, I see them.

Among them, I see you too.

You'll be at rest soon, my dear Erwin.

The second death happened too soon. Laying on the roof, I watched Erwin struggle to breathe as he clung onto life. His lower right rib had been shattered, the bones piercing his lungs. Blood soaked the bandage that wrapped his waist. Its metallic scent burned my nose. I never liked the scent my comrades blood, but something about Erwins made me want to vomit. It was all over my hands and face.
I cradled his head in his last moments, Armin collapsing behind us after devouring Bertholdt. He had received the serum rather than Erwin.

Quickly, I spoke some words regarding the ending of the beast titan. It would have to wait for now, but I promise to fulfill it.
Hange lifted his eyelids to see his lifeless pupils, indicating the final end of Erwin Smiths life.

"He's already dead"

Frozen. My heart feels as if it's stopped and everything is silent. My stomach churns, my eyes stinging. I draw a shaky breath, resisting the urge to do something. Shout, cry, scream, mourn. Anything. I clench my fists, dull nails digging into my palm until it breaks the skin and I speak.

"Oh."

Is that all I can say?

Just a single word. Not even a 'I'm sorry.'

What good would apologizing do?

This was the second death.

-

The third, final death happened decades later.

On the sofa I sit drinking tea and listening to the radio. It's a neat invention.

Gabi and Falco have a kid. He is 19. His name is Colt. He joins me in their living room, idly picking at his nails while sitting on the floor.

I'm quite old now, leaning into my early 90's.

I look like shit.

My hair is all grey, my face wrinkly. My eyes droop with age and exhaustion.

I've lived a rough, physically demanding life.

Gabi walks into the living room suddenly and turns down the radio to tell me something.

She's grown into a beautiful lady and mother.

"Levi, I found a picture you might want to see."

She handed me a small drawing of a person.

Studying the image, I observe a tall man with parted hair and large eyebrows.

It is the final death that now happens.

"Who is this?"