Chapter Text
Year 829
“I’ll make you a good price. They don’t do boys at the brothel where his mother worked. They can’t keep him, and I have no use for him.”
“How old is he? Six? Seven? He is too young, and he looks sick.”
“I’m sure there will be a few gentlemen from Mitras who’ll be willing to pay extra for him. Feed him well for a couple of weeks, and he’ll be your goose that lays golden eggs.”
A pause.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. Look at him, you’ve got to admit he’s got potential. Ten silvers and he’ll be yours.”
Hands claw at his shoulders, at his arms. He’s pulled forward and stumbles on his own feet. When he hits the floor, cheek pressed against the tiles, he doesn’t have the strength to get back up.
“He looks like a mouldy wet cloth. Smells like one, too. I won’t give you more than five.”
“Be reasonable. Eight silvers and five coppers.”
“Five silvers and ten coppers. That’s my last price. It’ll cost me a fortune just to put some meat on those bones. And if he dies before he can make me some money, I want two silvers back.”
“He won’t. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”
“That’s what you said about the smallpox girl you brought me last year, and she didn’t last the winter. Be grateful I’m feeling generous today, for old times’ sake.”
“We’ve got a deal.”
He gets pulled up to his feet. The hand that is curled around his arm is holding him so tightly his eyes fill with tears. He whines, his small hand pulling at the man’s fingers, desperately trying to loosen their grip.
“Does he have a name? Do you have a name? Speak, boy.”
He gets shaken, and his body wobbles back and forth like a lifeless rag-doll. When he doesn’t answer, a hand strikes his left cheek and a hollow, crisp crack splits the air.
“I think his mother called him Levi.”
Year 833
“You’ve got to learn how to behave boy, or so help me gods I will kill you with my own hands!”
Levi’s back collides with the wall so violently that the ugly painting hanging above him rattles. The man towers over him, belly hanging from his leather belt and sweat staining the shirt under his pits. The smell of plum wine on his breath, mixed with the stench of his rotten teeth, is nauseating. Levi groans, touches the back of his head and feels his hair wet and clumped together.
“This is the last time, do you hear me? I’ve been patient with you. I’ve given you a bed and food on the table and this is how you thank me?”
Sal crouches down, knees cracking under his weight as he squats in front of Levi. His small eyes resemble those of a pig, Levi thinks as Sal leans closer, snarling in his face like a rabid animal. “Do you know how many respectable clients I’ve lost because of you? You’re costing me a fortune.”
“He’s just a child, Sal. He’ll learn.” One of the girls steps forward, emerging from the small crowd of onlookers, and puts a gentle but firm hand on the owner’s shoulder.
“He bit Sir Pyrus. He bit him. They had to give the poor man stitches.” Sal grabs Levi by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward with ruthless force. “How dare you?”
Levi claws at the man’s arm and kicks one leg forward, making him lose his balance and fall back on his ass with a grunt. Once he’s free of Sal’s grip, he jumps and straddles his stomach. He digs his nails in his oily cheeks and drags his fingers down, watching as the skin breaks and bleeds. Sal shouts in pain, wobbles his fat arms like a a beetle laying on his back, then grabs Levi by the shoulders and shoves him off.
“You filthy little rat, I’ll kill you!” The girls shout and scatter like mice as soon as Sal is back on his feet. Levi sits up, then rolls to the side before Sal can kick him and stomp on him. “Come here. Come here, you little shit.”
Levi is significantly faster than him. Just as Sal turns around, he’s already on his feet and landing a kick on the owner’s shin, then another aimed at his groin. Sal howls, collapses on his knees with his hands clutching at his crotch, mouth slack in pain. “You are dead,” he sputters, eyes squinting and lips wobbling. “You hear me? You are dead.”
Levi runs.
Kenny pulls the hem of his hat down and the lapels of his coat up as he walks down the alley. The stench of urine and dirt prickles his nose in a way he had tried to forget during years of linen sheets and lavender soap. He curls his lips, disgusted, wondering how has he ever lived down there among sewer rats.
“A sister, you say?” Uri had asked, his thin, elegant brows pinching together as they stood in front of a pond of crystal clear water. “I’m surprised, you’ve never mentioned anything about your family.”
Kenny had scoffed, shoving his fists down his pockets. “I never said anything about a family. I told you I have a sister. That’s it.”
“Older?”
“Younger.” How long had it been? Years, surely. At least five since he had last seen her. “She whores herself out in the Underground.”
Uri hadn’t flinched, too used to his crass vocabulary to be offended by it. The silence had stretched for a few minutes, which gave Kenny enough time to push the image of his sister’s face out of his head, back in the mental drawer where he had been keeping her for all that time.
“You should go visit her,” Uri had finally said, his voice smooth and gentle, like a droplet of honey falling from a hive. “Family is all we have, Ken. And someone with your last name should protect his own kind at all costs.”
“We’d be better off if we went extinct,” Kenny had hissed, fists clenching in his pockets. “End our bloodline and all the suffering that came with its curse.”
Uri had sighed, his eyes closing as he tilted his head back, enjoying the last rays of sunshine of the day. “I think you are wrong,” he had hummed. “You are the living proof that there’s always another way. Endless paths, endless possibilities.”
“Oi,” Kenny had turned his head and stared at Uri’s noble profile. “Quit with the poetry. I’ve got no use for your riddles.”
“I find your clan’s history highly fascinating. Your blood is as precious as mine.”
Kenny huffs, making a right turn and shaking his head as Uri’s voice scratches his brain like a nail. He can’t believe he has let the man convince him to go back after he had sworn to himself never to set foot in the Underground again.
The wooden door creaks when he pushes it open, and the man at the counter barely looks up from the booklet he’s lazily flipping through.
“How many hours?” He asks, voice laced with boredom and wine.
“I’m looking for someone,” Kenny says, “a woman.”
“No shit.” The man looks up, unimpressed. “We have plenty of ‘em.”
“Her name is Kuchel.”
The man’s face twist in cluelessness, then shrugs. “Never heard of her.”
“Black hair, grey eyes. About 5’3’’.”
“Listen, man, do you want a girl or not?”
Kenny leans forward and flicks his hat back. When the host sees him, colour drains from his hollow face. “I won’t ask you again. I want to see my sister.”
“She died,” the man blurts out, taking a step back and cowering against the wall. “A few years ago. She caught something, that’s all I know.”
Kenny stares at him, unflinching, face set with distant coldness.
So this is it, he thinks. His wish is becoming true, after all. With his sister gone and his unwillingness to bring a child into the world as determined as ever, it isn’t going to be long before the Ackerman clan disappears. Wiped from the face of both worlds.
He pushes himself off the counter, his movements a little stiffer than before.
“Are you looking for her brat?” The man asks, tentatively, and Kenny frowns.
“What brat?”
“The kid she had. We couldn’t keep him here, so we sold him off. I don’t remember how long ago it was, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he is down in the dirt as well. He was sick, I think. Spent a few weeks locked in his mother’s room with her corps before we noticed, but you know how it is here. Things get lost. So many girls, so little time.”
Kenny’s brows furrowed, giving away his confusion and surprise. The man blinks, fingers anxiously intertwining as he waits.
He would like to turn his back and leave. In fact, he already has a foot in the door. It is none of his business what his sister got involved with. She had decided to run off with that good-for-nothing piece of shit. She had decided to be on her own when he left her. She had decided to sell herself for a couple of dews, and get knocked up by another disgusting, good-for-nothing piece of shit. It doesn’t concern him, it shouldn’t matter. Moreover, the host had said so himself: the child is probably dead, just like his good-for-nothing mother.
“Who?” He asks, voice heavy.
“Uh?”
“Who bought the child?”
Levi hides behind a stack of wooden boxes, breath coming in frantic puffs as he catches his breath. He cranes his neck, trying to see if the alley’s clear, and then immediately pulls back when he hears the sound of hurried footsteps coming from the main road.
It was all for nothing. The baker had caught him and Levi had accidentally dropped the loaf of bread while running away. If the man didn’t have a a rifle on him, Levi might have considered going back and retrieve the bread. The baker shouts a few curses against him, nothing that Levi hasn’t heard before, and leaves, walking back to his shop holding his firearm to his chest.
Levi sits on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It’s been a few weeks since he ran away from Sal’s. Weeks of hiding in the filthiest, tightest caverns of the Underground, trying to avoid Sal’s men as they hunt him down. He is well aware he can’t go back, but he also can’t keep living like this. He is starving. His young, lithe body is covered in grime, bruises and cuts, and if he doesn’t eat anything soon he’s not sure he’ll make another day. His stomach grumbles, helplessly empty, and Levi clutches at his abdomen. He needs to find some food. That is the only thing he can think about. Food. Any type of food. He’d eat a rat’s tail if it came to it.
“There he is.” He jumps, startled, and kicks his legs in the air as two men lift him up from the ground. Their uniforms are pristine, well ironed and clean, with a green horned horse embroidered on their backs. “You’ve been causing trouble, haven’t you?” Levi squirms, shouts, but he is too weak to stand a chance against them. His body goes limp, and they throw him in right into a filthy puddle on the side of the road. “If we catch you stealing again, we cut your hands off. Consider this your last warning.”
His shirt is soaked, and his shoulder hurts from the impact with the ground. A few people have stopped on their tracks, curiously looking at the scene, but none of them makes any attempt to intervene or help him. Levi trembles, his knees barely holding him upright as he drags himself out of the puddle, shirt uncomfortably sticking to his back and side.
He has no concept of night and day. Every hour of every day looks the same, but he feels very tired and sleepy. The brick wall he collapses against silently welcomes him, and Levi closes his eyes as he slowly slides down, knees pulled to his chest.
He thinks of his mother and her gentle hands, her warm arms and soft hair. He wants nothing more than to be with her, back in her lap, cradled in her arms.
“Oi.”
Levi flinches again, curling on himself like a ball of dust in a corner. When he looks up, a man in a hat is staring down at him. His brows are pulled together, but when he sees Levi’s face a flash of recognition shines in his steel eyes. The man stares at him, his jaw locked and his lips pursed, and Levi blinks. “Are you Levi?”
Levi shakes his head. He doesn’t know this man, has never seen him before, but if he has learned something from his recent years on this earth is that people who look for him generally bear no good news or intentions.
The man watches him, unmoving, and Levi shakes his head again.
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
Right, Levi thinks. That is what they all say.
“My name is Kenny, I’m an old friend of your mother’s.”
At that, Levi’s eyes widen slightly. The man crouches down and the hem of his long coat pools around him.
“She’s dead, isn't she?”
Levi hesitates, then gives a single nod. At first, he had thought she was sleeping, too tired from her fever to stay awake, but then the days had passed and she wouldn’t wake up, no matter how much Levi cried for her and begged her to open her eyes. Then she had started to smell, her skin had started to turn grey and to recede on her lips and eyes.
A moment of silence passes, and the man, Kenny, sighs. His head falls forward, hanging low between his broad shoulders, and Levi starts noticing more things about him. He observes how clean and well-trimmed his nails were, and that he has dark hair falling down the back if his neck. His clothes are clean, expensive-looking and fit him well, like someone has tailored them for him specifically, not like the loose clothes people in the Underground wear. He surely comes from upstairs, the unknown, strange world from where the men Sal sold him to come from.
“I know you ran away from Sal’s brothel. He told me you’ve been causing trouble. Is that true?” Levi shakes his head again, and Kenny smirks. “Is it you who mauled his face like an angry kitten?”
Levi doesn’t move, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Oi, are you mute or something?” His stomach grumbles again, so loudly that Kenny glances down. “Alright, get up. Let’s get you some food.”At the mention of food, Levi does his best to pulls himself up as quickly as possible, scared that the man might change his mind.
He walks slowly, his steps short and unsteady, but determinedly follows along until they reach a small tavern at the corner. The owner tries to argue that he doesn’t want a filthy, sick looking child in his property, but one single glance from Kenny is enough to shut him right up. They sit down at a table in the corner. Kenny orders a soup, some bread and a baked potato. The food is hot, like it just came off the stove, and Levi devours everything that’s in front of him with the voraciousness of a dozen men. He gulps down the water, stuffs his face with the bread and the potato, trying to fill the void in his stomach before someone can clear the table and take away his meal.
“Slow down, boy. You’ll end up choking.”
Another basket of bread gets shoved in front of him, and Levi eagerly takes another roll, clutching it in his small hand for safekeeping.
Kenny lets him eat, takes off his hat and leans back in his chair. When the owner comes by their table, he orders a bottle of plum wine and two glasses. When he finally slows down, it’s only because his stomach is hurting. He looks up, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed, and Kenny’s lips twitch.
“Better?” Levi nods dumbly, drunk on carbs and wine and soup. “Good boy.”
When he wakes up, he’s surprised that he’s not laying on the pavement or inside an abandoned empty box. The mattress is soft and plush under him, unlike any of the beds he’s ever slept in before. He sits up, blanket falling off his shoulders and pooling on his lap, and notices that he is not wearing his clothes. In fact, he is not covered in filth and grime anymore. His skin has been scrubbed raw, to the point where it’s still a little flushed and scratched, and the fabric of the huge white shirt he’s wearing feels warm and smooth against his skin.
He looks up, and sees Kenny sitting at the table in the centre of the room, his legs thrown on it the chair reclined, balanced on the back legs. The man must have bathed him, or maybe Levi bathed himself but he was too tired to remember.
He shuffles off the bed and walks barefoot to Kenny. He is sleeping with his arms folded on his chest and his head low, but jumps to action the second Levi’s brushes his forearm. The chair shatters on the floor and suddenly Levi has a knife to his throat, pressed right where his pulse point is hammering. Kenny exhales when he realises there’s no threat, but doesn’t let go of Levi’s shoulder nor puts the knife down.
“Rule number one,” he says, eyes squinting. “Never sneak up on a sleeping man.”
He lets Levi go, and sheathes his knife back in his belt. Levi looks up at him in awe, and when Kenny moves, Levi moves too.
Kenny looks down at him, watches him. Levi holds his gaze, grey meets grey, and Kenny’s breath silently catches in his throat. Levi doesn’t run away from him and he’s not scared of his knife. Instead, he takes a couple of steps forward until he’s right in front of Kenny’s legs. When he reaches up and brushes his fingers against the handle of Kenny’s knife, the man pulls it out of the sheath and hands it to him. Levi finds it lighter than he expected, and the handle smoother than he anticipated.
He grips it tightly, and swings it in the air like a child would with a wooden sword.
Kenny watches him, adjusts his grip, bends his elbow at a different angle.
Levi swings again, blade cutting through the air with a hissing sound. He looks up at Kenny for approval, head craned back, and Kenny curses against Uri under his breath.
Year 838
“Why don’t you bring him here?” Uri asks him one evening, right in the middle of his dinner. Kenny is standing by the window, distractedly watching the rain hit the glass with soft thuds. When he turns his head, he sees him cutting down the spine of the fish in his plate with precise, skilful precision. “The Underground is no place for a boy to grow up. Here, he could go to school, study. Be with other kids his age.”
“He doesn’t like kids his age,” Kenny argues, his arms folding across his chest. “And he is growing up just fine.”
Uri smiles. His dimples make him look younger than he actually is. “I didn’t mean to pass judgment on your parenting skills.”
“I am not his parent.”
“Aren’t you?”
Kenny rolls his eyes, lips curling in a displeased frown.
“How old is he now?”
“Fifteen, Sixteen. We’re not sure. Can’t be older than sixteen.”
“Brilliant age,” Uri muses with a nod. “I could pull a few strings and have papers ready for him. Wouldn’t Levi like to see what the upstairs world looks like? Isn’t he curious to see where you go every week?”
“Oi, what’s with all these questions?” Kenny glares at him, but there’s no real bite behind his words. “The boy’s still an Ackerman. He’s much safer down there than he is up here.”
“Ah,” Uri sighs. He stabs a piece of white meat with his silver fork and brings it to his lips, chewing slowly. “I see.”
“You don’t see shit.”
“You worry for him.”
Kenny scoffs, turning around. He looks out of the window, listens to the rain with his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense. It doesn’t rain in the Underground, and he suddenly thinks that Levi wouldn’t enjoy it. He doesn’t like the mud, the dirt, and he hates it when water drips on his head from a leaking pipe.
“It’s perfectly normal to care for the boy, Ken. Would be odd if you didn’t.”
Kenny has watched his nephew grow from a malnourished, weak little thing to a fearless, strong menace of a boy. He has fed him until his cheeks filled out and colour came back to his face, silently admiring how identical he looks to his mother. His jaw, his eyes, his nose. Even his lips are shaped exactly like Kuchel’s. Kenny is glad Levi ran from the brothel and from his mother’s destiny, because he can only bring himself to imagine how much success he would have had if he had stayed there. He personally knows dozens of men, seemingly respectable men, who would pay hundreds of silvers and golds just to lay a hand on someone as devastatingly unsettling as Levi. His teeth greet against each other, rage building inside him at the thought.
“I see right through you, my dear Kenny,” Uri takes a sip of wine, and Kenny glances at him from over his shoulder. “It hasn’t been easy for your clan, and I will never apologise enough for it, but you cannot keep the boy hidden forever, clueless about who he is. About who you are.”
“He thinks I’m his father,” Kenny confesses.
“Of course he does. Can you blame him?”
“He is not coming up here,” Kenny leans against the window, and he feels the cold condensation on the glass through his trench coat. “I did what you told me to do. I went back, I saved him. I raised him. I’ve taken care of my own blood, like you wanted me to, but someone will start suspecting something. My visits to the Underground have been too prolonged for too long to go unnoticed. My name is no mystery, Levi’s still is, and as much as you can grant immunity to the Ackermans, you won’t live forever. Once you’re gone, the hunt will begin again. Your brother cannot wait to kick me out of the palace and have me hanged.” Kenny takes a couple of steps forward, under Uri’s careful watch. “I’ve taught Levi all he needs to know to survive. The rest are tales and stories. He stays in the shadows, and that is the greatest kindness I can do him.”
Year 844
The room smells of smoke and parchment paper. The wooden table has documents splayed on its surface like they have been thrown rather than laid out. It’s late, and the meeting doesn’t seem to be reaching any conclusion. They have been at it for at least three hours already, the sun has went down and the oil lamps have been turned on.
Erwin hunches forward, hands splayed open on the table.
“I am just saying,” he is trying to keep his tone down at a moderate and calm level, but he’s getting progressively more restless by the minutes, “that if the rumours are true, that is one asset we might need among our ranks.”
Keith Shadis, the Commander of the Survey Corps, scratches the top of his bald, tan head. He looks tired, hopeless. His eyes have sunken back into his skull with both exhaustion, age and tragedy. “We cannot base our strategy on rumours, Captain Smith. The history of the Ackerman clan is rooted in legend more than facts, and according to the King there are no living members.”
“Except Kenny Ackerman,” Erwin argues, pointing at a news article regarding a new Military Police section, the Anti-Personnel Control Squad. “He is in charge, and has been collaborating with the Reiss family for years.”
“One living member, then, and he has joined forces with the MP. Why would we waste our time in the Underground, looking for this spare phantom Ackerman, when our business is up here, outside the walls?”
Erwin straightens his back and glances at Hange, giving her a slight flick of his head. She opens the book she brought and slides it towards their Commander, then adjusts the glasses that are sliding down the slope of her nose.
“Sir, what do you know about the Ackermans?”
Shadis scoffs. “They were a family close to the royals, attempted treason and were persecuted for their crimes. Smith, you realise that you’re suggesting we take a traitor among us?”
“Sir,” Hange cuts in, “I have conducted some research. There’s not much out there, but I found something. The Ackermans were created to serve as the King’s personal guard. Created, sir. There’s titan blood in their blood, and once their power awakens, they’re effectively unstoppable.”
Shadis looks between Hange and Erwin like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, like they're both mad.
“An awakened Ackerman fights with the strength of a hundred men, and we have reason to believe that the King might want to keep this information… private.”
Erwin sits down, arms laying on both armrests, and looks up at his Commander. “I have contacts in the Underground. Kenny Ackerman has spent a great deal of time down there, and rumours has it he had a sister, and that this sister had a son.”
“And you think this kid is the key to our success?”
“I think that we have lost one hundred and seven men over the last year, and we have fewer and fewer recruits each quarter. At this rate, the MP won’t even need to sabotage us anymore, because there will be no scouts left.” His gaze pierces through Shadis, who stares at him with his lips sealed. “We need to renew people’s hope, to show them that we can fight and survive, and that we can bring them answers. We need someone they can look up to and entrust their future to.”
“And there’s more,” Hange excitedly points out, leaning towards the Commander. “An awakened Ackerman is loyal to and only to their liege. The royal family has curated their DNA very carefully, structuring it in a way that makes it physically impossible for them to disobey orders once they find a master to serve. Imagine that lever of force and loyalty in the Survey Corps, sir.”
Shadis curls his lips and sits down as well, looking absorbed in his own thoughts. Erwin watches him, chest rising and falling slowly as he waits for the Commander to process the new information.
“They created something they couldn’t control,” Shadis reasons quietly. “They created monsters.”
“Assets,” Erwin corrects him. “If one knows how to use them.”
“And you think you are capable of using one?”
Erwin tilts his head to the side. “I think, given the right circumstances, I can. Wouldn’t you rather join the Survey Corps and finally get the Citizenship, rather than spend your entire life in the Underground?”
Hange grins. “I would. And I also think we can provide this Ackerman a new purpose. Something worth fighting for. After all, it’s for the common good.”
“If this Ackerman even exists,” Shadis points out, “which we don’t know for sure.”
Erwin lifts his chin. “Sir, I’m requesting permission to use my Special Op squad to go down there and find him. If we don’t, I won’t speak of this matter ever again.”
Shadis hums, slowly scratching his goatee. “Very well,” he finally concedes. ““Three days, that’s all you have. If you actually find this Ackerman kid he will be your under your direct responsibility to make a decent soldier out of him, Captain.” Shadis stands again, his shoulders not as squared as they once used to be. “And if he is not nearly as remarkable as you say he is he gets kicked back downstairs, and you will be demoted to Section Commander. Are we clear?”
Erwin stands, back straight, eyes ablaze. “Yessir.”
“Poor bastard,” Shadis sighs, shaking his head. “For his sake, I hope he doesn’t exist.”
“With all due respect, Sir,” Erwin argues, placing his right fist on his heart, and the other behind his back. “For our sake, I hope he does.”