The dream starts the same as it always does: for just a moment, it’s the three of them and everything is okay. It’s him, Eren and Mikasa, and Shiganshina lays around them, the same as it always has been with its cobbled little streets lined with houses, the market always full with stalls selling fresh meat and produce from the farm surrounding their little town. His grandfather is in one of those houses, probably reading a book. And Eren’s mom is in another, maybe hanging a fresh load of laundry out to dry. The sun is warm and beautiful in the clear blue sky, some birds lazily flying along the few puffs of white that roll across it.
And then the world ends.
It’s starts with a sound, a loud ear-splitting sound like a crack or thunder or an explosion. Nobody understands, not then. The people draw into the streets, and the three of them follow. Nobody is sure who spots it first, but then everybody sees it.
There’s a hand on top of the wall.
Slowly, the huge fingers curl, leave gauges in the wall, sending debris down and then the face appears. It’s a horrifying face. Larger than any face has a right to be, skinless with only angry red flesh stretched taut over a skull, steam pouring, billowing off it. And for a moment, everybody is still. Nobody screams, not yet. They all stare without comprehension at the titan. Because it is a titan, except not even a titan should be this large, right? The wall is sixty meters tall. There is no way a titan should be able to peer over it, stare down at them like an angry god.
And then, with another loud noise, the wall falls. And the screaming starts.
The debris falls across the city as people start scrambling away. Everywhere there is noise now: crying children and adults, people screaming and the sounds of pain, the gurgling last breathes of the people hit with the rumble.
And then suddenly, Mikasa and Eren are gone and Armin is alone. He’s shaking, his knees trembling so hard he fears he might fall. Because this is the end, he knows. Even now, titans must be pouring into the city via the broken gate. The only thing that has stood between them and their annihilation has fallen.
Trick or tree!
And then the world ends.
It’s starts with a sound, a loud ear-splitting sound like a crack or thunder or an explosion. Nobody understands, not then. The people draw into the streets, and the three of them follow. Nobody is sure who spots it first, but then everybody sees it.
There’s a hand on top of the wall.
Slowly, the huge fingers curl, leave gauges in the wall, sending debris down and then the face appears. It’s a horrifying face. Larger than any face has a right to be, skinless with only angry red flesh stretched taut over a skull, steam pouring, billowing off it. And for a moment, everybody is still. Nobody screams, not yet. They all stare without comprehension at the titan. Because it is a titan, except not even a titan should be this large, right? The wall is sixty meters tall. There is no way a titan should be able to peer over it, stare down at them like an angry god.
And then, with another loud noise, the wall falls. And the screaming starts.
The debris falls across the city as people start scrambling away. Everywhere there is noise now: crying children and adults, people screaming and the sounds of pain, the gurgling last breathes of the people hit with the rumble.
And then suddenly, Mikasa and Eren are gone and Armin is alone. He’s shaking, his knees trembling so hard he fears he might fall. Because this is the end, he knows. Even now, titans must be pouring into the city via the broken gate. The only thing that has stood between them and their annihilation has fallen.
Humanity is doomed.