Chapter Text
She was only eight years old when it happened.
The memories came in fragmented pieces- her father’s deep, comforting voice, his warm embrace that had led her to believe that all of humanity must be good, if only because he was good.
And then, the unmistakable sound of the chamber's door slamming open, the strong smell of iron that filled the air as the floor was covered in red footsteps.
Before they could take another step, her father, the King, was already rushing forward.
He was out of bed, angry and desperate, trying to shield his family and protect them with his own body.
His voice echoed through the room, the light tremor in his voice showing hints of the genuine panic creeping up inside of him.
“Get out of here!” he shouted, reaching for the sword hanging by the door, willing to sacrifice his life right here and now.
Mikasa’s mother was already moving by this point, her face pale with terror, lips parted in silent panic. She scooped Mikasa into her arms and ran, not to the door, but to the worn floorboards near the wardrobe nearby- the secret place where Mikasa used to hide during games of hide and seek. It had always been a place of laughter and fond memories. Not anymore.
“Hide, Mikasa,” her mother whispered, voice trembling with fear. Her hands shook as she lifted the board, her eyes, once so gentle, so kind, now wide in horror. “Don’t make a sound. No matter what happens, you must stay hidden. Do you understand?”
Mikasa, unaware and overwhelmed by the situation unfolding, did as she was told, squeezing into the tight space beneath the floor, her heart rate speeding up in her chest as she pressed her shaking hands over her mouth to keep herself silent.
Through the cracks in the floorboards, Mikasa watched the horror unfold unwillingly.
Her father was being overpowered. A sharp, sickening sound rang out as a knife was driven deep into his chest as two more men held him down. He gasped, his body jerking from the impact. He struggled, blood spilled onto the floor, his movements growing weaker until his motionless body inevitably hit the ground with a thud.
Mikasa wanted to scream as tears fell from her eyes, wanted to run to him and make sure he was okay, but her mother’s weight pressing down on the floorboards to keep her hidden kept her from moving.
“Please! Have mercy!” Her dear mother begged in a strained voice, But her plea would come too late.
The men moved toward her, cold and merciless. Mikasa, once more, watched, frozen in horror, as one of them seized her mother by the throat and drew a sharp blade across it before she even had the chance to scream. The air was momentarily filled with the sound of her mother’s gurgling, desperate gasps as the life drained from her. Her mother’s body slumped to the floor close to her father’s, her once-beautiful face twisted in pain, her eyes rolling back in her head.
The noise rang in Mikasa’s ears like a scream that wouldn’t end. Her eyes burned from all the tears shed, her tiny body curled tighter beneath the floor, fingers aching from how hard she was pressing them to her lips to force silence upon herself.
Her mother’s blood pooled so close that she could smell it- warm, sharp, and sickening. A single drop managed to slip through the boards and hit her hand. She didn’t flinch.
There were footsteps above her, the murderers of her parents.
“They said there was a child.”
“You see one?”
A pause. A shuffle. Someone crouched down so she could see the hem of a cloak inches from her hiding place. Mikasa’s breath stopped entirely.
“No. Maybe they lied.”
“Or it ran. Wouldn’t get far.”
“She’ll die out there on her own. Doesn’t matter. No one else is alive to care for her. I say let her starve.”
They left.
Still, Mikasa didn’t move.
Not when the sun began to rise. Not even when the warmth of day reached through the cracks in the floor and shone onto her cold skin. She didn’t speak. She didn’t cry anymore. Her tears had dried hours ago. All she could do was stare and feel her muscles try to move, but she did not allow it.
It wasn’t until nearly half a week later that anyone found her.
The castle, left in total silence, stood as nothing but a grave to the ghosts remaining inside. Bodies scattered the area, windows had been shattered, and the stench of blood still lingering in the air.
It was only when a former advisor and close friend of her parents returned from a diplomatic journey that he discovered the aftermath. He had ridden through the night, sensing something wrong when messages went unanswered for longer than usually, especially because his matter had been urgent.
What he found was worse than anything he had imagined.
He found Mikasa beneath the floorboards when frantically searching for her. She had been weak, silent, and barely conscious. She hadn’t eaten or spoken during those days, too frightened to come out on her own. She didn’t cry when he lifted her out- she simply clung to him, eyes wide and tears that had long since dried on her cheeks.
He knew that there was only one person left who could take her in at this rate- Levi Ackerman, King of the Germanic North, a distant cousin on her father’s side.
He was the last of her blood-related family, even if she never met him before.
Arrangements were made immediately. Mikasa, still in shock, was wrapped in thick cloaks and escorted under heavy guard across the sea.
News of the massacre spread like wildfire, whispers of the lost princess and the fall of the Eastern royal family echoing through every court and being accessible in every newspaper out there.
The journey to reach the north had taken days, close to weeks, the roads cold and merciless.
Her parents’ friend remained by her side the entire way, offering quiet reassurances that never quite seemed to reach her.
Mikasa didn’t speak a single word. She didn’t sleep.
Her eyes, once bright with childish mischief, now stared blankly at the horizon- watching, always watching, as if expecting the world to fall apart right in front of her yet again.
By the time they arrived at the King’s palace- a seemingly old fortress of light stone and towering spires carved into the mountainside- Mikasa looked like a mere shell of the child she had been before.
The King stood waiting at the end of the steps of the castle, flanked by guards in silver cloaks that lowered their heads in respect at the situation occurring.
His expression was unreadable, almost seeming to be carved from the same stone that surrounded them.
Beside him stood his wife, Hange, eyes a lot warmer, filled with concern that was incapable of being hidden away and buried under total seriousness.
“Sie ist noch kleiner als ich dachte.” Hange whispered to Levi.
“Sie ist ein Kind.“ Levi replied simply, pointing out the obvious.
When her family friend approached and gently ushered Mikasa forward, the girl hesitated.
Her hands clenched in his cloak. The foreign language spoken around her only made everything worse. The sharp consonants and clipped syllables she couldn’t follow, couldn’t trust, couldn’t repeat.
Everything she ever knew was gone. Her language, her home, her history- all of it had been left behind in ash and blood. This place was colder in more ways than one to her.
Her eyes only managed to focus on Levi before her when he knelt down in the snow, his stern expression softening when being met with her scared gaze.
“Hier werden sie dich nicht mehr verletzen können. Ich schwöre es.” The man spoke, in spite of her lacking the knowledge of the language, and reached out a hand, offering her patience and a choice in times that were out of her control.
And, eventually, Mikasa managed to bring up enough courage to place her shaking hand into his and thus seal the deal of her new living situation.
The decision to take her in hadn’t required debate already in advance, anyway.
When the letter had arrived and detailed the massacre in sparse, devastating lines, Hange had read it aloud in the study.
Levi had said nothing at first. He simply stood still, staring out of the window, his jaw tight and his expression of utmost seriousness.
“Sie ist bloß ein Kind,” Hange had said softly. “Sie hat niemanden mehr übrig.”
“Sie ist ein Ackerman,” Levi replied.
“Sie ist ein Teil der Familie,” Hange corrected promptly. “Es ist unwichtig wie nah verwandt ihr seit, wir sollten sie trotzdem aufnehmen.”
And they had.
Rooms were prepared. Tutors were called. Language lessons arranged.
But it wasn’t a smooth transition. No, quite the opposite.
She sat through as good as all of her lessons in silence, unable to understand the thick, foreign syllables being spoken to her.
The servants treated her with wary respect. She was a royal, yes, but broken.
Damaged. Untouchable.
She rarely ate during the first few weeks, either.
Nightmares haunted her sleep, and when she did wake up and screamed or cried to herself, it was in a language no one around her understood.
Some nights, Levi would sit in the hall outside her chambers until the screaming stopped. He never spoke about it afterward, and neither did she. She knew he was there, but Mikasa couldn’t even look him in the eyes for the longest time.
Hange, ever patient, often spent afternoons with her in silence, just sitting near her in the castle library or the greenhouse- never pushing, only offering her presence, and, eventually, began reading her books with simple translations written in careful ink on the margins.
She knew how it felt. Hange hadn’t been entirely fluent from the start, either, but thanks to her persistence, that wasn’t truly noticeable anymore.
Levi never treated her like glass when offering her to learn how to defend herself, believing it may strengthen her confidence again.
He was firm, but not cruel. Quiet, but constant. He made sure she had the best instructors, the warmest cloaks, and the sharpest blades when the time came for her to actually start to train.
But, being the critical perfectionist he was, Levi ended up teaching her on his own entirely.
“Du bist nicht schwach,” he told her once, after one of the first few lessons left her shaking and frustrated.
“Du bist in Trauer. Verwechsel das nicht miteinander.”
And little by little, Mikasa began to speak again.
In spite of all, she never stopped mourning her parents. Never stopped seeing red in her dreams.
But under Levi and Hange’s care, she learned how to keep moving forward with it. How to carry grief like armor. How to survive. How to make her life the tiniest bit less miserable with every day she woke up alive.
And for now, that was enough.