Soul Tattoo (Ereri)

Zero

Two years after their marriage, Carla gave birth to their child. They named to the boy Eren, and they were happy in the wonderstruck way that only new parents can be.

That happiness was tempered by worry, though, because their son had been born marked. Carla traced a gentle finger over her sleeping child's shoulder blade, following the curve of the design that was part of his flesh. Grisha came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist, offering her the comfort of his broad chest at her back.

"Wings," she said. Her spine was stiff, and she couldn't seem to relax against him. "I don't understand. It wasn't like this for either of us. But it can't be anything else, can it?"

"One black, one white," Grisha mused. "I didn't think anything of it then, but I used to hear that if you're born with a mark, it doesn't belong to you, but to the one you're meant to share your life with."

"I knew a girl with a key mark just here," Carla touched her collarbone. "People used to say that she was meant to marry into money, to be wealthy enough for locks with such pretty keys. Her lover was hung for thievery."

Grisha's arms tightened. "It's too early to start guessing what this might mean for Eren. They're very beautiful, Carla."

"And large. You know what they say about that. The bigger the mark the stronger the passion. And if this person with their mismatched-wing nature is no good, Eren will—"

"Carla," Grisha interjected, using the tone he usually reserved for the most uncooperative of his patients. "We can't know anything right now. We can't even speculate based on such dubious wives' tales. Worrying yourself sick over it won't change that fact. The Soul Tattoo has brought us nothing but happiness. We can only hope that it will do as well by our son."

Brows still furrowed in concern, Carla nodded. Grisha rested his chin on her shoulder and extended his own hand, tracing the glossy-looking black feathers of the left wing, following the restless line of it to the the place where it seemed to join with his infant son's shoulder.

He knew that he'd been speaking only the truth when he said there was nothing they could do, but his own unvoiced misgivings welled up behind his sealed lips. He'd never heard of a Soul Tattoo mark so large as Eren's, and it reminded him with uncomfortable vividity of the Scouting Legion's crest. Perhaps it was a coincidence, but if not, then it was all too likely that his son's beloved would die an early death, before they even had a chance to meet, perhaps, and if not, well—Grisha had treated soldiers from the Legion before. They had every one of them had something broken in their eyes, and he didn't want that for his son.

The child stirred beneath his parents' gentle hands, and sleepy slivers of lake green appeared, taking in the faces above. After a moment's apparent contemplation, the child's face screwed up, his fists balled, and he began to wail.

"Hush, there," Carla soothed, lifting the kicking infant up and kissing him. "Hush, my love. You shall have your supper whether you sound the trumpets of war or not."

Undeterred, Eren wailed on, if anything louder than before, and Carla murmured on in a soothing tone, her strong, lovely hand cupped around his small back, covering the wing marks.

At the sight of mother and son together, already so alike, a smile rose unbidden to Grisha's lips. Time enough for worries in the months and years to come.