better now | pieck finger

five

"(Y/N). Sit here."

After walking around the market, you and Pieck decide to sit on a bench overlooking the sea. You're mesmerized by the emptiness of the place. The absence of fleets and warships stirs an overwhelming feeling at the pit of your stomach and your heart thumps at the remembrance of war.

"Since when did the sea become this beautiful?"

The ambiance of the night market adds to the beauty of the scenery in front of you. If only you could, then you'd compel the place to stay this way for eternity. All your worries cease to exist in the presence of the clear water and the glowing moon. Pieck places her hand on top of yours and you freeze.

"The last time the sea was this way was four years ago," she says. "The night before the enemy ships arrived at the harbor, the weather was just as peaceful. Life is truly full of surprises."

"You were there?"

"Yes." She slouches, then runs her thumb over your fingers. "I was here with my father that night. We were out running errands for the rich. The next day, Zeke visited me to announce that the dock had been seized by the alliance."

"That's awful."

"It was. The next thing I knew, I was the Cart in battle." She looks at you. "You were great back then. Thank you."

With your free hand, you awkwardly rub the back of your neck.

"It's nothing," you say. "I have mixed feelings about being a soldier, but the unit always makes me feel better."

"At some point in our lives, we'll feel weird about working under them. How are those feelings?"

"They're still here. Feelings don't go away quickly."

"I understand what you mean. They can't be controlled especially when you've gone through hell. You become one with your anger and it doesn't subside until sense is knocked into your brain."

Her hand leaves yours. She stands up and walks toward the same ice cream stall you bought from earlier. A few minutes go by and she comes back with two ice cream cones.

You reach for the dessert but she shoves it in her mouth before you can even get the chance to touch it. Startled, you let out a soft whine, then a pouty protest.

"Pieck? I'm sorry, but I think you got the flavors wrong."

The woman laughs, shakes her head, then licks the dessert before wiping the corners of her mouth with a paper towel. "My father used to tell me to be open-minded. Imagine yourself in the shoes of others and see life from their standpoint. We do that by swapping the things that mean the most to us." She offers you the other cone. It's chocolate. "We've never eaten ice cream before, so this counts as valuable."

You take the treat from her hand and give it a taste. Compared to the vanilla flavor, it's ten times sweeter. Your lips curl upwards and you enjoy the rest of the dessert.

"Hey, your father is wise. He reminds me of you."

"He isn't my biological father," she says right after. Your smile weakens until it fully disappears at what she says next:

"My real one died when I was young."

You bring the ice cream away from your mouth to gape in shock. Your eyes soften. How can they be so similar? You swear the facial features are alike—not picture-perfect, but similar enough to identify the genetic resemblance. You wonder about the true identity of the man you shared dinner with earlier on in the evening. Perhaps one of her uncles?

"What was your real father like?"

"He fought for the truth. After all, he was part of the Eldian Restorationists. His membership cost his life and the safety of our family, then his medicine practice after word got out. The Marleyans turned them into titans while I was dragged into the military.