Year 847 — Southern Training Grounds
The sky was iron-gray and heavy with smoke from the burning wood drills. In the far distance, the walls loomed like cold sentinels, and the bitter wind carried the metallic tang of worn steel and sweat.
"Line up!" barked Instructor Shadis, his voice slicing through the murmur of cadets.
Cael Richter stood motionless at the edge of the formation. Silent. Unreadable. His eyes flicked upward for the briefest second—tracking a hawk gliding on the breeze above the trees—then settled back to the ground. Always listening. Always calculating.
Shadis paced before them like a predator.
"Today is ODM maneuver evaluation. Fall, and you'll break bones. Fail, and you'll wash out like piss from a rain barrel."
Some cadets shifted nervously. Eren Jaeger clenched his fists. Jean Kirschtein scoffed under his breath. Mikasa Ackerman stood like stone, gaze forward, perfect posture.
Shadis stopped in front of Cael.
"You. Richter. Heard you grew up in Trost. That right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Then you've already seen Titans. Maybe it'll keep you from pissing yourself."
Cael didn't flinch. He didn't speak either. Just gave the faintest nod.
Shadis sneered. "Let's see if the silent genius can fly."
🚀 ODM Evaluation – Field Line
One by one, cadets fired their gas canisters and launched into the course. Some spun wildly, others slammed into trees. Sasha somehow snagged a branch with her foot and flipped upside down, bread still in her mouth.
Then came Cael.
Gas hissed. Hooks fired.
He moved like a shadow through the trees.
No flailing. No overcorrection. Just pure momentum.
He used short bursts—skimming rooftops and logs with no wasted height. At one point, he released both hooks mid-swing and twisted into a reverse launch, flipping over the next obstacle upside down before catching a line mid-air.
Even Mikasa blinked.
From the sidelines, Jean muttered, "Who the hell does he think he is?"
Connie, slack-jawed: "Dude… he didn't even try to look cool. He just is."
Mikasa kept watching, expression unreadable. Not out of admiration—not yet—but curiosity.
💬 Later – Mess Hall
The noise was low, tense. Everyone was still buzzing about Cael's maneuver.
Eren slammed a tray down. "You all act like he's Levi or something."
"He's not Levi," Armin said thoughtfully. "But he's different. He listens to the gear. Watches the wind before he moves."
"I think he's just weird," Jean added, stuffing bread into his mouth.
Cael sat alone near the back. Quiet. Calm. Eating slow. Deliberate.
Across the hall, Mikasa glanced toward him—just a second too long. He didn't look up. But she noticed something odd.
Despite sitting alone, his gear was polished. Sharpened. Oiled. Like he cared more for the blades than his own comfort.
She remembered that. So did she.
🌑 That Night – Training Barracks
The lights were out. The wind howled through the gaps in the old wood walls.
Most cadets slept. A few whispered. Cael lay awake, eyes fixed on the rafters.
Then: a quiet shift. Someone moved.
Mikasa, heading to the gear shed.
Cael waited a few seconds, then stood.
🛠️ Gear Shed – Midnight
She stood by the rack, tightening a malfunctioning cable. Hands practiced, precise.
Cael didn't speak as he stepped inside, but she didn't startle.
"You tighten too much," he said quietly. "It'll seize when the anchor retracts."
She glanced at him, eyebrow raised.
"And if I don't, it'll misfire."
Cael shrugged. "Only if you rush the shot."
For a second, silence. Then Mikasa stepped aside.
"Show me."
He moved next to her, adjusted the pressure dial by half a notch.
"Feel that?" he asked.
She gripped the line. "Smoother."
He nodded. "The gear's a living thing. Listen to it."
Mikasa looked at him—really looked—and saw, maybe for the first time, not a ghost or rival... but someone who understood things without needing to prove it.
"You don't talk much," she said.
"Neither do you," he replied.
A pause. A flicker of something unspoken. Then she turned back to the gear, and he moved toward the exit.
But just before he left, he said—soft, almost unsure:
"Your form… it's clean. Better than anyone."
Mikasa blinked, caught off guard.
"Thanks," she said—genuine.
He was already gone.
End of Chapter 1