Birdie (Levi x OC)

seventy

I checked my shoulder behind me, a surge of paranoia tightening my chest. I was nervous I had been followed. No one was there.

I walked the forested path with grim determination. I'd taken this path hundreds of times now and knew it like the back of my hand. It had been days since Eren's letter arrived, and the urgency in Headquarters was suffocating. There had already been two trips to the capital and countless strained discussions with the other military factions. Eren really had made the choice for us. We needed him, we needed his Titan—and he left us no choice but to follow him into the pits of that hell.

Now, we were all waiting. Waiting for his next correspondence. Waiting to hear what our next steps were, even though we all already knew what it would likely entail: a trip to Marley... one that certainly wouldn't end in ice cream and new skirts. The thought tasted like ash.

I stepped over a rock with ease; my balance and mobility greatly improved after years of dependence on the brace. The brace was a part of me now, an extension of my body that allowed me to walk. I couldn't run; fuck I wish I could, but walking was easy now. Uncomfortable, but easy. The constant, low thrum of discomfort was a part of me now. I almost couldn't remember what it was like to walk with ease. Not that that mattered anymore.

I reached a small clearing surrounded by thick trees and stopped. I took one last, thorough look around, eyeing up the tree line for any watching eyes. None were to be found.

I knew Levi was still at the capital—the only person who would know where to look for me, the only person sharp enough to notice my absence—so I knew it was safe.

I knelt on the damp grass, the familiar weight of the structural brace already anchored firmly around my injured leg. It was heavy, stable, and absolutely necessary. The original trauma to my thigh had caused severe nerve damage, and as a result, my foot, where the numbness and sensation loss were most complete, felt cold and distant. A constant, dull buzz of pain ran up my calf from the damaged nerve pathway. I then grabbed what I had brought with me; the gear I dragged along on this solo field trip.

ODM gear.

For the past few months, I'd been pouring over engineering schematics in my spare time, and in secret. The main challenge was the harness. The standard design assumed legs that were the same size. Since my right thigh was significantly atrophied and noticeably smaller than the left, the regular harness wouldn't work due to improper weight distribution, which would be instantly lethal. I had hand-stitched extra padding and custom straps inside the leg loops to compensate for the size difference. I also attached small weights to the side of my hip over the brace, hoping to give the damaged leg a chance at stability.

I buckled the ODM gear on, threading the harness carefully around the thick metal cage of the brace. This was the moment of truth. I felt the harness sit against the custom padding, distributing the immense upward pull exactly where I needed it to make up for the lack of muscle mass on my right side.

I stood, carefully testing my balance. The brace, the modifications, the weight of the gear; it was all cumbersome and heavy. A sharp spike of pain shot through my knee as I shifted weight, a cruel reminder that despite the modifications, the injury was permanent. But it held. I pulled the trigger on the test canister, the sound of the compressed gas giving off a sharp hiss. This was the furthest I had gone with the gear. The only question now was whether this modified gear, now integrated with the brace, could handle the flight.

I took a deep breath, the morning air burning in my lungs. I was ready. I sighted a tall, sturdy redwood tree fifty yards ahead—my first target. I focused on controlling the persistent, dull numbness in my foot and ignored the sharp anxiety tightening my chest.