Yesterday's Enemy [AoT]

FIFTY-THREE

'Ambition is man's greatest poison... and his greatest asset. With ambition, he can soar ever higher, kiss the clouds, and erect statues of gold. But there is danger in prosperity. The perpetual push of purpose will leave you either broken and bruised or with a crown atop your head.'

-An extract from the book 'Royal Questions' written by scholar and journalist Aksel Briggs.

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FIFTY-THREE

Wall Sina, Interior, the Krüger Tunnels

Walking through the tunnels was a slow and painstaking experience. The nine of them trudged through the flooded darkness, listening to the sound of creaking metal and rushing water. Lorelai walked in front, with Levi at her side; the team was completely blind without her.

They all hoped to God she knew where she was going.

"Bervik!" Thomsen called from the rear of the group. "We've been walking for twenty minutes. Are we making progress or what?"

"Getting there," she called back, her voice echoing off the metal walls.

"Where are we even heading? Straight to the gold?"

"We need to drain out this water and get the lights on first, or we won't be able to bring it back with us."

"Huh, I suppose that makes sense."

The group faded into silence once again, trudging through the murky water.

Levi couldn't wait to get the hell of here. The water was probably disgusting, full of dirt and animal shit. That, and his nerves were piling. Being so far underground and the coming danger of his and Lorelai's mission set him on edge.

"You alright, sweetheart?" prompted Lorelai softly, holding her lantern higher to see his face.

He nodded, offering her a weak smile before looking forward again.

Lorelai stopped suddenly, squinting through the darkness.

"What is it?"

"I... I think I recognise..." she trailed off, hastening further down the tunnel. The group gathered around her.

Lorelai was staring at two armchairs tucked against the tunnel wall, now soaked with water, of course. The chairs were the only bits of soft furnishing in this place— a stark contrast from the cold industrial metal of their surroundings. She lifted her lantern to inspect the wall; just as she remembered, there hung a painting. It depicted the Larken mountain range.

Memory flooded back in full force. Warren.

She remembered laughing, really laughing. The way she couldn't anymore. "Since when were you an art connoisseur? You've bought every art gallery in the district!"

"I am a man of culture, darling! You've given me more money than sense. What else would I use it for?"

"Bettering Havas?" she'd teased.

"I'll put it on the list," Warren had winked. "Besides... this is... a personal piece."

"You painted-?"

"My father did— it's all he left behind. Two grimy paintbrushes and this old canvas. Pathetic, isn't it?"

She should have known then— known where her money would take him, known where the shame of his past would. It would take him here— here, to this museum of war.