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The afternoon sun was a tired, orange eye sinking behind the jagged silhouette of the refugee camp that now carried the softer sounds of evening: the crackle of a few small cookfires, the low murmur of exhausted voices, the distant cry of a child. Inside the Yeager shack, the light was dim and golden, catching the motes of dust that drifted like forgotten spirits.
They were all there, gathered in the small space that had become their world. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin sat on the floor, their backs against the wall, the grime of the day still on their clothes and skin. Carla, in her wheelchair, had a bowl of mending in her lap, but her hands were still. The usual, fragile peace of the evening was absent, replaced by a heavy, waiting silence.
Grandpa Arlet stood by the shuttered window, peering through a crack as if he could see beyond the camp, beyond the Walls themselves. His posture was rigid, the posture of the soldier he used to be. He turned slowly, his face etched with a deep, weary concern that seemed to age him another decade.
"We…need to talk," he said, his voice a low gravelly rumble that cut through the quiet. He didn't wait for a response, lowering himself onto a stool with a soft groan. "There are stories. Whispers from the traders who slip past the MPs, rumors from the garrisons that are too loud to be completely contained. And among the residents of this place as well."
Armin leaned forward, his curiosity immediately piqued. "Is it what I think it is, Grandpa?"
The old man's eyes, sharp and ancient, swept over them. "Of a beast. Not a Titan. Something different. They're calling it a 'Demon Dog' in the interior. It moves like a ghost, they say. Phases through solid matter. Leaves behind... carnage. It attacked a noble's estate in Wall Sina. Scaled the wall itself and vanished. I'm sure you've heard a thing or two yourselves."
Eren, who had been listlessly tracing a crack in the floorboard with his finger, went perfectly still. His head snapped up, his green eyes wide, the color draining from his face. As much as he tried to ignore it, a cold dread, familiar and suffocating, clenched in his chest.
Another one.
The thought was a lightning strike of pure, unadulterated panic. His hand flew to his wrist, where the Omnitrix was hidden beneath a layer of grimy bandages. His fingers pressed against the cool, unyielding metal of the dial as if he could feel the creatures within. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
"Ph-Phantom..." Eren stammered, his voice a choked whisper. He looked from Grandpa Arlet to his own bandaged wrist, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Did... did he get out too? Is Savage... is he loose?!"
The memory of Zs'Skayr's freedom was a fresh, bleeding wound. The terror of that night, the feeling of his own body being used against him, the violation; it all came rushing back. If one could escape, why not another? Was the device breaking? Was he a walking prison with failing locks?!
Grandpa Arlet watched him, and to Eren's shock, a low, dry chuckle escaped the old man's lips. It wasn't a sound of amusement, but of profound, grim irony.
"No, son." he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "That's not it. The Omnitrix is secure. Its containment protocols, for all the trouble it has cause, are the most advanced in the known universe. What's out there... it didn't escape from there."
The brief flicker of relief was instantly drowned by a colder, deeper fear. If it wasn't from the watch... then where?
Armin, ever the strategist, connected the dots first. His blue eyes widened. "The rogue creature rumor, it's real. And if it's not from the Omnitrix..."
"Then it's from out there," Grandpa Arlet finished, his gaze turning distant and haunted. "From the sea of stars I once sailed. And if one of them is here, if Savage, or best called a Vulpimancer has found its way to this isolated, forgotten world..." He paused, letting the terrifying implication hang in the air like a poison.
"It means the door we thought was sealed shut might have a crack in it. And something is slipping through."
He looked directly at Eren, his expression deadly serious. "I'm not saying this to scare you. I'm saying it so you are alert. So you understand that the danger is no longer just contained to what's inside that device on your wrist. The universe, Eren, is vast, and most of it is not friendly."
The silence in the shack was absolute, broken only by the frantic pounding of Eren's heart. Another monster. Not a ghost, but a beast. Not from a nightmare in his watch, but from the cold, infinite void of space. The walls of Paradis suddenly felt paper-thin.
"That's enough."
Carla's voice cut through the tension, sharp and protective. She had put her mending aside, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with a fierce, maternal fire.
"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Arlet, truly, I do," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.
"But I will not have you putting these thoughts into my children's heads. They are children. They have been through hell already. Eren has that... that thing permanently fused to his arm because of a legacy you helped create. He's been hunted, possessed, and nearly killed. He's ten years old!"
She gestured around the cramped, dusty shack. "We are barely surviving here. We have enough to fear from Titans, from hunger, from the cruelty of our own people. Now you want them to lie awake at night, terrified of monsters from the stars?"
She shook her head, a single, defiant motion. "No. Let the authorities handle it. Let the Garrison, the MPs, someone, anyone else deal with this. These children have given enough."
Her words were a shield, thrown up around her son and his friends. But Eren wasn't listening to the argument. He was staring at his bandaged wrist, his mind reeling.
The authorities couldn't handle this. The MPs would dismiss it as a story. The Garrison would be slaughtered. They didn't understand. They couldn't.
There was another Savage out there. And he was the only one who knew what that truly meant.
Grandpa Arlet met Carla's gaze, not with defiance, but with a profound, shared sorrow. "Carla," he said gently.
"The 'right authorities' on this world are not equipped to handle a threat like this. Ignoring it won't make it go away. It will only let it grow stronger in the dark."
But Carla was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on her son, on the terrified, faraway look in his eyes, on the way his hand still protectively covered the device that had stolen his childhood.
"I-…I think that would be enough for now."
The conversation was over. The warning had been given. But in the heavy, suffocating silence of the shack, a new, more terrifying chapter had just begun. The danger was no longer just within the Walls, or even within the Omnitrix. It was out there, in the wider world, and it was hunting. And a bunch of ten-year-olds, were the soon to know the true shape of the nightmare to come.
____________________
The courtyard of the Scout Regiment headquarters was a tableau of controlled chaos under the bruised purple and orange hues of dusk. Torches were being lit, their flickering light dancing on the grim faces of the scouts assembled for the emergency deployment. Commander Erwin, his bandaged hand a stark white flag of their recent failure, stood on a low dais, his voice cutting through the evening chill.
"Your mission is investigation, not engagement!" he boomed, his single eye sweeping over the ranks. "You will proceed to the assigned Cadet Corps sites and liaise with the Garrison. You are to gather information on any unusual activity—livestock deaths, strange sightings, anything that cannot be easily explained. The creature is dangerous and unpredictable. Your priority is the safety of the cadets and the procurement of intelligence. Is that understood?"
A unified "Sir, yes sir!" echoed back, but the tension was palpable. They were hunters sent to track a ghost.
Among the ranks of the 4th Squad, Scout Duran stood with a perfectly practiced look of grim determination. He adjusted his straps, checked his horse's tack, and exchanged terse nods with his comrades. He was a middling soldier, unremarkable in every way, which was precisely why he had been perfect for this assignment.
As the horns blew signaling the departure, the squads began to move out, a river of green cloaks flowing through the main gate. Duran's squad was assigned to the western sector, a route that would take them past the outermost farming villages.
They had been riding for little over an hour, the lights of Trost fading behind them, when Duran suddenly guided his horse to the side of the column, pulling up beside his squad leader.
"Sergeant," he said, his voice laced with a convincingly strained concern. "I need to make a stop. My sister's family… their farm is just a mile off the main road. With all this talk of a beast on the loose, I just… I need to see for myself that they're barricaded properly. I'll catch up before you make camp, I swear it."
The Sergeant, a weary man named Rolf, scowled. "Duran, we're on a tight schedule. The Commander's orders—"
"It'll be quick," Duran insisted, layering a desperate plea into his tone. "Just a visual check. I won't even dismount. I can't ride out knowing they're directly in the potential path of this thing."
Another scout further down the line chuckled. "What's the matter, Duran? Scared your niece will be eaten by the big bad wolf?"
Duran shot the man a glare that was only half-feigned. "Shut it, Jansen. This is family."
Sergeant Rolf let out a long-suffering sigh. He knew Duran was a family man, and the request wasn't entirely unreasonable. "Fine. One hour. If you're not at the designated campsite by then, I'm marking you as AWOL. Don't make me regret this."
"You won't, Sergeant. Thank you," Duran said, his voice thick with false gratitude. He tugged the reins, diverting his horse down a narrow, overgrown game trail that branched away from the main road. The jibes of his squad mates faded behind him, swallowed by the rustling leaves.
He pushed his horse into a steady canter, the familiar path leading him not to a farm, but to a derelict windmill perched on a lonely hill, its sails skeletal against the darkening sky. As he approached, two figures detached themselves from the shadows of its stone base. Ser Valerius stood, his posture ramrod straight, his pale eyes gleaming in the twilight. Beside him, the masked knight was a silent, unmoving statue.
Duran brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, his entire demeanor shifting. The nervous energy bled away, replaced by a cold, professional calm.
"Valerius," he greeted, his voice now devoid of its earlier anxiety. He nodded towards the silent figure. "And the quiet one. Still letting your mask do all the talking, I see."
The masked knight offered no response, not even a tilt of the head.
"Your report, Knight-Corporal Edric," Valerius said, bypassing all pleasantries. "The commotion at the Scout headquarters. What transpired?"
Edric; no longer Scout Duran; leaned against his saddle, pulling a canteen from his pack. "It's confirmed. The 'Demon Dog' is real. It breached their headquarters last night. Tore apart Squad Leader Hange's lab and engaged both Captain Levi and Mike Zacharias in direct combat before escaping."
Valerius's eyes sharpened. "Escaped? From both of them?"
"It can phase through solid matter, Valerius. It's not just a beast; it's something else entirely." Edric took a swig of water. "It's a bloody nightmare. And it hitched a ride on a supply wagon from one of the Cadet Corps sites. The Scouts are mobilizing to investigate all of them as we speak."
"This is a complication," Valerius murmured, his mind racing. "If the Scouts get to it first, they'll either get themselves killed or, worse, contaminate the specimen with their clumsy handling."
"Tell me about it," Edric grumbled, gesturing to his green cloak with disgust. "It's just a matter of time till I can fake my death and get out of this ridiculous attire. Keeping tabs on these suicidal idealists is a lot more difficult than I thought. The stench of their self-righteousness is worse than Titan filth."
"The time for your extraction has not yet come," Valerius stated firmly. "Lord Aldric's orders. The royal court has… strategically delayed the next expedition. It is now scheduled for five months hence. The King desires a… significant reduction in refugee numbers and Scout influence before the walls are opened again. Your position is more critical than ever."
Edric let out a short, bitter laugh. "Of course he does. So I'm to remain in the belly of the beast a while longer."
"You are," Valerius confirmed. "And your new mission is clear. The Scouts are scrambling. We have a narrow window. We must locate the creature's point of origin and secure it before Erwin Smith's hounds pick up the scent. Your information gives us that advantage. We will begin our own investigation, starting with the most likely Cadet Corps sites. Your duty is to ensure your squad's investigation is slow, methodical, and ultimately, unproductive."
A grim smile touched Edric's lips. "A little bureaucratic inertia, some misplaced paperwork… that I can manage. Consider it done."
Valerius gave a curt nod of approval. "Well done, Knight. Our mission is far from over. The purge of this unnatural blight from our world begins now. And we will not allow sentimentalists to stand in our way."
With a final, wordless exchange, Edric remounted his horse. He cast one last look at the two Forever Knights, the mask of the scout Duran settling back over his features like a shroud. He turned his horse and spurred it back down the hill, not towards his fictional sister's farm, but to rejoin his squad, a poison pill of deliberate failure now embedded deep within the Scout Regiment's best efforts.
Chapter 24-31 are already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom.