𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

I

Eren lost track of how many days he spent locked away early into his stay. It was pointless to etch tally marks into his wall, as there were already hundreds, if not thousands, of little lines scratched into the stone from all its previous inhabitants.

However, he still watches the sunrises and sunsets from his barred window and wonders how his friends pass their time in Rat's Row without him. Has Armin gained any weight now that there's one less mouth the feed? Does Mikasa still half her scraps and divvy up pieces between the begging children? Do they ever watch the sky and think of him, too? Are they still alive, or had hunger and sickness claimed them as it claimed so many?

Eren busies himself whenever his mind wanders to that dark place–to the thought of living in a world where his friends no longer exist. He imagines breaking down the cell bars and punching every guard that aims to block his escape. He pictures Armin's bulging blue eyes when they reunite or Mikasa's glittering smile as they all sneak out of the city into the free world. As impossible as that reality is, Eren still pictures it at least four times a day. Even as new prisoners are thrown into newly emptied cells and guards shout curses at every convict they cross paths with, Eren stays hopeful.

Without that hope, his fifteen-year sentence would change into an infinite slumber.

He pictures that perfect reality when he hears footsteps pace down the dungeon's damp stone. They are quiet as the pitter-patter of mice and so unlike the guards' footsteps that Eren had become accustomed to counting. The steps cease, and Eren finds a familiar figure lurking outside his cell door with nothing but a candle illuminating their slight stature.

Eren had come to know this man rather well in the last few weeks. Every few days, the shadow appeared outside his cell, asked him a few questions about why he was there and what he intended to do when he got out and then would leave like they had never met. It had become somewhat of a routine, and although it was a bit pestersome at times, like when Eren tried to rest his eyes or eat his gruel, the company wasn't all that bad compared to the surrounding prisoners.

But before the conversations became too comfortable, the little man always left and moved on to the next prisoner, asked the same questions, and went to the next until he questioned the entire block. The other prisoners changed their answers each time the little man rattled on their cages. One day, they were a murderer; the next, they were a thief; and the next, they had done nothing at all. They would say they planned to kiss their wife; then they would get drunk in the alehouse; and the next, they'd buy as many prostitutes and enjoy their freedom to the fullest.

But Eren stayed consistent in his answers. He was imprisoned for thievery, he had a fifteen-year sentence, and the first thing he'd do once he was free would be to find his friends. It was simple.

Eren expects that same conversation as he eyes the shadow.

"Eren? Of Rat's Row?" the voice asks.

"Still here," Eren answers.

"The King has summoned you."

A nervous sweat forms in Eren's palms. "Summoned? By the King? For what?"

Keys rattle through the hall, and Eren watches in confusion as his cell door screeches open.

"You'll find out when we reach the throne room," the man says as he steps into the cell. He extends two open shackles for Eren to place his wrists into.

"Can I refuse?"

"You can, but I'm sure you know how the King reactions to defiance."

Eren does know. This "King" was the same man that raised every sentence for every crime throughout the Realm. If a man was caught speaking ill of the Crown, they could choose between losing their tongue and spending twenty years in the dungeons. If a man was caught poaching in the King's woods, he could choose between five arrows to the leg or thirty years. If a man was caught withholding tax payments from the government, he could forfeit everything he owned or spend the rest of his life locked away.