.

Of course he hadn't.

Erwin's chaotic order in that space apparently involved those piles of dusted, yellowing old pieces of paper.

Hange's rationality came to a halt within those walls. It made no sense to work there without rearranging the room into a new set of chaos, signifying the gradual transfer from one Commander to another. Or without at least arranging what was there back to its normal location, but Hange was committed to whatever stubborn set of morals.

"I have my own office. There's no point in moving here."

"There's more point in doing so."

"What kind of argument is that? I have everything in my office. Whatever's in here that I may nee, I'll come borrow. There's no reason."

Whatever Hange ended up deciding after more voices supported or refuted the opinion, Levi took to himself the task of cleaning and swiping everything, placing the books back to their place, clearing the desk, dusting off the chairs and replacing curtains. The messy piles of paper sheets had remained in their place, part of them supported by the same chair. Without giving himself time to think about anything in particular rather than the methodical, grounding cleaning that held his rationality, Levi fetched a considerable amount of thread and started to string up the handwritten pages into solid reams.

When he got to the pile supported by the chair, expectedly, a harsher movement caused the whole thing to crumble down.

Seeing the speckles of dust dance and sparkle in front of the sunlight that came from the window, Levi gathered up the paper again, lowering his eyes to the first sheet. He never bothered to read any of them before; it wasn't his business, and it was unnecessary to peek anything. Now, and again without much thinking, the glance at the contents quickly revealed this particular one to be a letter. The next sheets on his hands were also letters, and apparently, all of them were dated. Erwin's journals were clearly mixed up with these letters and scattered thoughts.

Letters and journals would both be personal, but these letters were addressed to someone that never got them, so if he was to feel guilty in whatever way, he felt a bit less this way. Perhaps.

January 28, 844

Hello Father,

Levi's gaze narrowed between the date and the letter's recipient. Erwin's father had died long before that. Saving himself other mental comments and again banishing thinking altogether, he continued. Erwin's handwriting was perfectly clear, and the difference from his right-handed writing to his left one, which Levi had grown used to, was striking.

This will be short, as I feel rather tired and expressing my thoughts feels as relevant as ever, but as exhausting as always.

The Lobov crisis- no, not the right word. I'll refrain from scratching the letter right at the start, and don't want to bother wasting another sheet-

The Lobov plot has been fully archived. I was never too worried, truth be told. Commander Shadis thought me crazy as it was, but I genuinely didn't fear whatever actions Lobov might have set in motion to smother my proofs of his corruption. Maybe I've seen too much of what's beyond those walls to fear people like him. Maybe I haven't seen enough. To have this whole situation closed feels more like a natural step I've been patiently awaiting rather than a relief.

Yet, I would be lying if I said there isn't a part of this that is unsettling me, like a bitter sting at the back of my throat, like a failure, a sense of guilt. Simultaneously, I am perfectly able to be rational and see with its real meaning, and the partial absence of this very guilt.

I'm so tired I don't really recall if I told you about the Underground city in the previous letters. I'm sure I have. As pointless as these scribbles are, I guess I'll just waste more of-

Well, I'm sorry.

As I was saying, I finally saw the Underground, and I would have loved to share with you again all those questions I had about it, and how right I was about so many of them. It feels like a full circle, an accomplishment. You sure put up with me a lot, didn't you. Maybe I shouldn't have looked up to you as the wonderful teacher you are, always patient with curious students. It would have saved you some grey hair, so many questions, so much persistence.

My fascination turns out to have been perfectly founded, as were your worries that such a small child as I was then wished to see such a place. Everything happens in its due time, I suppose. My fascination was founded, as were all our questions on humanity and inhumanity. How does a society simply sweep people under the floor like dirt under a rug, and cleans their hands remorselessly towards the precariousness it brings to all of them?

It really is not different from seeing this: these people shoved under bricks and stones, away from sunlight; and us, shoved behind walls and deadly mysteries.

Every day I am more certain of your words, and every day I feel guiltier for having failed you so naively and so horribly. I just wonder if I'll ever be able to see your truth confirmed, as I've seen my truth about the Underground confirmed.

For an intended small letter, Erwin might have ended it there. The handwriting wavered on the last paragraph, and some pause seemed to have indeed happened. This seemed like the type of thing to write late at night, candle light helping to fight off the sleep he much needed.

But who was Levi to talk about sleep.

The spacing between the paragraphs was slightly bigger and the letters were steady again.

The source of my unsettlement:

Those three from the Underground. Tasked with my death, and instead they were the ones to lose their lives, except that man. I've misjudged his age, but I certainly did not misjudge his resolve and his skill. His name is Levi.

Although he guessed without much effort that Erwin might mention him as soon as he saw the name Lobov, it still felt strange to Levi to see his own name written in this old letter. Disattached, categorical, and yet.

The next segment described him while making comparison between some kid's stupid concept of plants underground in search for light, tall gangling and sickly white things, and humans, expecting people to react the same way in the Underground - and how so completely opposite that hypothesis was in his case. Levi found himself muttering an equally categorical 'Fuck you'.

The letter continued, clearly far longer than Erwin imagined it would be.

I pulled every string I could, used every argument I could to bring him and his two associates, friends, family, I don't know what they were - to bring them to the Survey Corps. You do not understand how extremely important soldiers with their abilities are to us. I truly believe this is why I did it. They would die in the Underground and their talent go to waste. Or maybe they would have made a deal with some one else and buy their way out of a hole into a cage.

But I brought them knowing their intentions to kill me, and knowing the chances to convince them, to see past their legitimate reasons, would be too hard - for them to see how valuable they could be to help change this world for the better with the Survey Corps.

How many times have I seen Commander Shadis break down under heartbroken parents holding their children's body parts, accusing him of bringing death and misery upon them? Only someone who is willing to sacrifice everything can hope to change anything - we all know this, but I wonder...

The hatred Levi now has for the titans surpasses the one he feels of me. The sacrifice of his friends to the titans' jaws will drive every action of his from now on.

So you see why I started this by saying I was tired?

Levi frowned.

Have I not provoked this? Was this not intentional? Have I not consciously brought new dangers to these people's lives and caused this man this devastating loss? I did not kill them - I can rationalize the actual death, but did I not condone their fates?

"You didn't."

How could I not? How could I not, in some way, hope for something to happen? Am I not forcing this man to follow me into hell, one way or another?

"I'm the one that decided to follow you, you dumbass."

I'm tired. And yet I feel this is but the beginning, and that my exhaustion is nothing short of self pity I don't deserve. I have a mission to fulfill. I have a dream I need to achieve, to make sure you didn't die in vain. To justify all the deaths of my comrades, and the amount of blood I feel will pour on my hands in the future. How many more people will die for the truth of this world?

Will I be there to see it? To find all the answers?

...I hope.

Do you think I can, father? Do I just have to keep fighting, regardless of the consequences?

The frown returned. His breath got caught in a lump on his throat.

Let's see where we go from here. Do you think I can really ask a man like Levi to follow orders, my orders, should that day ever come? Would it be right, or only some vain attempt to keep fighting for this truth I desire so much?

Maybe I should follow his orders.

Maybe I should stop talking to myself.

It's too late. I need to be up in a handful of hours.

Until some next unanswered letter. Maybe someday you will answer me.

Erwin

Levi read the signature, still so familiar even after the unavoidable change it eventually suffered as a left handed signature.

He had a whole pile of other such letters right there, scattered and fallen over the floor like a ruined castle's old white bricks with black marbled veins. He could picture Erwin finishing each one of them, the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders as he laid page after page to start building the tower of thoughts he wanted to throw away but never had. Reminders, whether of guilt or hope, to keep moving and looking forward endlessly towards that dream he never achieved.

Levi could have read more, or planed to read them in time. Instead, he folded this letter of January 28th carefully. He placed it on his breast pocket with the same care, and resumed his previous task.

When all the piles were safely and tightly knit together with string, he stopped.

It finally dawned to him what the weight in the air was.

Cleaned, swiped, the books placed back in their place, the desk cleared, dusted chairs and new curtains. Compiled, stringed piles of yellowing pages.

The room felt painfully empty.

He was gone.

Levi felt the urge to pick up and unfold the letter again, but he knew the words wouldn't change, and knew it was safely in the same place. He did not intend to be part with that one, palpable memory. He had lost any other mementos of other precious people. Not this. A proof of Erwin's existence, with a weight and texture, unlike this room now.

That one letter was enough.

He could have kept the other pages. Instead, he thoroughly carried them to the courtyard and set them on fire.

Choices with no regrets had to be made in order to move forward.

And promises needed to be fulfilled. He was tired of promising things he couldn't keep. You'll be alright, mom. You'll see when I return, Kenny. We'll come see the stars again tomorrow. I'll join up with you later.

I'll take down the Beast Titan.

This one he would.

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the end

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Author's Note: Sorry for the typos on the previous chapter. Too much fast typing, too little time online and too tangled up brain.

I'm not too satisfied with this chapter, but here we are.

I referenced stuff here from my other fics, like my kid Erwin and kid Levi AU 'Bird from Above, Bird from Below'

I'm in a process of mental cleansing and so I know all the stories will have weaker writing and simple plots, but I prefer that to continue like I have until now.

Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated if you want to.