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Liora liked it best when she was with her papa.
There was something special about those quiet moments together— something warm and safe, like the morning sunlight that filtered through their small kitchen window, glinting off her hair while Papa stirred breakfast in his faded pink apron. His hands, rough with old scars and callouses from years of battle, somehow turned gentle when they tied ribbons in her hair. He wasn’t very good at it—sometimes the bows were lopsided—but he always tried to do better.
Papa was a busy man. He had always been. Whenever she visited the barracks, the soldiers would whisper his name like a legend—Levi Ackerman. The strongest soldier, the one who could silence a battlefield with just one glare. But to Liora, he was just her papa.
Her safe place. Her whole world.
Now, she was seven years old, second grade, and she knew enough to understand that love didn’t always sound loud. Sometimes it was quiet things— Freshly folded laundry. Warm rice balls in her lunchbox. Little doodles of cats with blocky handwriting that said “eat well.”
Papa never said much. But he didn’t have to. He said everything in the way he lived.
He cooked her favorite meals even when it wasn’t her birthday, made sure her clothes were always clean and pretty, tied her hair up in neat ribbons even if the bows came out a little crooked. On the days he wasn’t too busy with training new recruits, he’d walk her to school with her tiny hand wrapped in his much larger one, carrying her schoolbag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. And even when he was tired, he’d listen to her chatter—about school, about cats she saw, about stars she wanted to count.
But there was one day Liora didn’t like. Not even a little. A day where Papa didn’t smile. Where the air in their home turned heavy and quiet.
August 31st.
Every year, on that date, Papa was gone. Instead, it was Uncle Erwin and Auntie Hange who gently woke her up and made her breakfast. They smiled and made silly jokes, but something always felt... off. Like even the house was holding its breath.
Papa would return the next day, quiet, as if a storm had passed through him. And Liora, sweet and observant, would behave her very best. She never cried or complained, not even once. Because she knew—knew—that her papa already carried more ache than anyone should. She didn’t want to add to that weight.
She never asked what her mama looked like.
There were no photos of her around the house. Just empty frames and faint dust outlines where memories once sat. She asked once—just once—and she never forgot the look on Papa’s face.
The way his eyes darkened, the way his mouth opened but no sound came out. That night, she heard him from the hallway. Calling her name—Y/N. Over and over, with a voice so full of sorrow and longing that it broke something in Liora’s tiny heart.
So, she never asked again.
The school bell chimed, echoing down the corridor as tiny feet pattered across polished floors. Liora walked out with her bag hugged to her chest, her pigtails bouncing lightly with each step. She slowed as she reached the school gate, blinking in quiet surprise when she spotted the unusual yet familiar figure waiting for her.
“Auntie Hange?”
Hange grinned, gave a cheerful wave, her goggles pushed up onto her head, wild hair barely tamed into a half-ponytail. “Hey, kiddo! Surprise pickup today! Your papa’s stuck at the training grounds longer than expected so I volunteered myself to pick you up.”
Liora’s lips parted for a moment—then she smiled, small but warm. “Okay. Thanks, auntie.” She knew that this eccentric Auntie is the one who insisted her papa not leave her waiting.
They walked side by side down the gently winding path, Hange’s steps light and bouncy, Liora’s small and even. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, their leaves catching the golden light, casting playful shadows across the pavement. The air still smelled faintly of chalk dust and the last of the sakura petals clinging to the season’s end.
“Did you have fun at school today?” Hange asked after a few moments.
Liora nodded. “I got full marks on my math test.”
“No way! That’s amazing.” Hange leaned down with a grin. “You’re gonna be smarter than all of us in no time.”
Liora giggled quietly, her cheeks pinking, before glancing down at her shoes. Her voice softened. “Papa helped me study.”
Of course he did, Hange thought her smile growing wistful. Levi probably sat with her late into the night, eyes heavy with exhaustion but focused, just to make sure she understood every problem. He never liked studying—but he’d do anything for his daughter.
They walked a little farther before Hange noticed it—something small, something off. Liora was still bright, still polite, but there was a flicker beneath her calm exterior. A quiet weight.
“Something bothering you at school, kiddo?” Hange asked gently.
Liora shook her head. “Not really, auntie.”
Hange squinted playfully. “Hey… I know I’ve got to respect your privacy, but I don’t like seeing my favorite kiddo all thoughtful like this. What’s going on?” Her expression suddenly sharpened. “Wait—is someone bullying you? Who is it? I’ll fight—”
“No one’s bullying me, Auntie Hange,” Liora said quickly, eyes wide. “It’s just… it’s kind of complicated.”
Complicated? Hange blinked. A seven-year-old talking about complication things? What on earth had Levi done to raise such a thoughtful little human?
“So,” Liora continued, “our teacher gave us homework. We have to write about our parents. But…”
Hange waited patiently.
“I know it’s easy to write about Papa,” Liora murmured, “but I don’t know how to ask him about Mama. You know, I really want to write about her too.”
Hange’s heart twisted.
“Wait… you mean Levi’s never told you anything about her?”
Liora nodded slowly.
“Not even once?”
Another pause. Her small hands tightened slightly around her backpack straps.
“I asked,” she whispered. “When I was little.”
Hange’s brows furrowed, a soft “Oh” escaping her lips.
“But papa get sad and cried that night,” Liora added, looking down at her shoes again. “So, I didn’t ask again.”
The silence between them deepened, thickened with unspoken things. Hange felt something sting in her chest. So, this was the kind of child Levi had raised—so sensitive, so attuned to others, she put away her own grief just to protect her father.
Hange made a mental note to punch Levi. Gently -maybe. She couldn’t promise herself to be gentle.
“I see,” Hange murmured, voice softening.
Liora slowed her steps, her gaze lifting. “Did you know her, Auntie Hange? My mama?”
Hange smiled gently. “Lucky for you, I did. I can tell you a little bit about her.”
Liora’s eyes widened with quiet wonder. “Really?”
“Uhm-hm.” Hange’s voice turned warm, tinged with nostalgia. “She was -is my friend. A very dear one.”
Liora’s fingers fidgeted with her sleeves. “How did she look like?” she asked shyly. “Everyone says I look like Papa… except for my eyes.”
Hange looked at her for a long moment. “You have her eyes,” she said softly. “That kind of brightness? That came from your mama.”
A soft growl interrupted the moment—Liora’s stomach.
Hange laughed. “Sounds like someone’s hungry. What do you say we stop by that little restaurant on the corner? We’ll get some food, and I’ll tell you more about your mommy. Sound good?”
The sun hadn’t yet sunk below the horizon, but Liora had already surrendered to sleep, cheek pressed against Hange’s shoulder, lips faintly parted, a smear of sugar still clinging to the corner of her mouth. Her small hands clutched the edge of Hange’s shirt, even in slumber. She looked so peaceful—so heartbreakingly innocent.
Hange looked down at her and smiled, soft and aching. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from Liora’s forehead, fingers trembling with the weight of memory.
“You’re just like Y/N,” she murmured, so quietly it was a secret between them and the silence.
She carried Liora through the evening air, her arms gentle but secure around the little girl’s sleeping form. People glanced their way as they passed—soldiers, cadets—but Hange didn’t care. Let them stare. She moved slowly, reverently. Liora was light- fragile. She carried the child like she was made of glass and gold.
Her office was cluttered, its usual chaos now softened by the presence of something gentle—something innocent. She laid Liora down on the old couch in the corner, its cushions worn but clean, the blanket she tucked around her faintly smelling of lavender. Liora shifted only once, nestling deeper into sleep with a quiet sigh, her small fist curling against her chest.
Moblit appeared at the door. “Section Commander?”
“Ssshh!” Hange pressed a finger to her lips. “Lio’s sleeping.”
“Oh, my bad,” Moblit whispered, stepping inside. He smiled softly at the sight of the girl. “Already out?”
“Out like a light,” Hange said. “Can you stay with her a bit? Just for a little while.”
Moblit frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I just need to speak with Levi,” she said, too calmly. Her voice didn't match the fire in her chest.
Moblit nodded. “I’ve got her.”
And with that, Hange turned and walked.
The corridors blurred as she moved. Her thoughts ached, tangled between the image of Liora’s curious little face and the bitter knot of grief that still clung to Levi like a second skin.
The man Hange searched was where she thought he’d be: sitting alone in the courtyard, beneath the branches of the barracks’ old tree, disassembling and cleaning his gear with the same obsessive precision he always had. But there was something hollow in the way his hands moved, something restless in his silence.
“Levi,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. There was no warmth in her voice this time.
“Four-eyes,” he said, glancing at her. “Where’s my little one? What are you doing here?”
“She’s asleep,” Hange replied evenly. “In my office. She had her fill. She’ll be fine for the night.”
Levi nodded, gaze falling back to the metal in his hands. “Thanks.”
But she didn’t move.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, sensing the weight in the air.
“Put that down and look at me,” Hange said quietly.
Levi hesitated, then slowly set the gear aside and turned to her.
Her fist came without warning—sharp and angry and fueled by years of restrained emotion.
He stumbled back, more from shock than pain.
“What the fuck—Four Eyes?!”
“You’re the one who’s out of your fucking mind!” she shouted, her voice cracking under the pressure of what she’d held in. “How dare you do this to her? How dare you bury Y/N so deep that even her own daughter doesn’t know her name?”
Levi’s breath caught. “What are you—”
“She told me today—her homework was to write about her parents. And you know what she said?” Hange stepped closer, finger jabbing toward his chest. “She said she didn’t know how to write about her mother. Because she didn’t know anything. Not even what she looked like.”
Levi was frozen. His mouth opened, then closed again, like the words wouldn’t come.
“She asked you, Levi,” Hange hissed. “When she was five. She asked you about Y/N. And when she saw you cried that night, she decided to never bring it up again. Because she didn’t want to hurt you. Do you understand how messed up that is?”
He looked down. Jaw clenched. Hands shaking.
“That little girl is so kind,” Hange went on, her voice breaking. “So damn careful. She carries you, Levi. She hides her curiosity, her pain, just to make it easier for you to survive another day. And all you give her is silence.”
“I didn’t mean to—” Levi finally said, his voice hoarse.
“I know you didn’t,” Hange said. “But meaning well doesn’t erase the damage. You’re hurting, I know. Losing Y/N broke you. But you lost her as a lover, a partner. Liora lost her as a mother—before she even got the chance to know her. To remember her voice or her face. She was fucking six months old that time.”
Levi looked like he was trying to breathe through a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.
“She asked me if I knew her mama. And can you imagine when I said yes?” Hange’s voice softened now, trembling. “Her eyes lit up, Levi. She looked like you’d just handed her a piece of the sky. That’s how starved she is for something—anything about her.”
He didn’t respond right away. His fists clenched. His jaw was tight. His throat worked around something heavy and unspoken.
“I don’t want her to remember Y/N the way I do,” he said finally, voice rough and low. “In pain. In pieces.”
“I know,” Hange said, gently now, crouching in front of him. “But that’s not all there was to Y/N. You had a thousand moments with her before the end. Laughing. Loving. Holding your daughter together. Those memories are hers too. And she deserves to have them.”
She paused, letting the silence sit between them.
“Let your little one remember her mother in love, Levi. Not in absence.”
He didn’t answer. But his hands slowly dropped, and his eyes met Hange’s. Red-rimmed. Tired. But listening.
“You don’t have to tell her everything. Not yet,” she said. “But start somewhere. Anything. A story. A habit. A laugh. Let Y/N live again, even if it’s just in words.”
Hange stood slowly, her expression gentler now.
“I think Erwin and I will keep Liora for the night,” she added quietly. “You take this time to think. And when tomorrow comes… ask yourself what kind of father she really needs.”
Then, she turned and walked away, leaving Levi in the fading light, the weight of her words pressing into the air like the night itself
The first blush of dawn seeped quietly through the curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the room. The world was hushed, caught in that fragile stillness between night and morning. A low, unfamiliar hum stirred the silence—soft, steady, and warm, like a lullaby meant to keep the night from breaking too fast.
Liora stirred beneath the blanket, her small frame shifting with a soft, sleepy sigh. Her lashes fluttered open, pupils adjusting to the faint light. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t in her own room. The ceiling was different. The scent in the air—faintly of old parchment, leather polish, and lavender soap—tickled her memories.
But it wasn’t unfamiliar.
She blinked slowly, taking in the familiar clutter of star maps on the wall, stacks of colorful books with dog-eared pages, and framed photos that captured tiny, golden slices of joy. Her heart settled.
Auntie Hange and Uncle Erwin’s house. Her room in their house. She was safe.
Then she heard it—the humming. Low, steady. A soft vibration in the quiet, like a song half-remembered in a dream.
She turned her head.
There he was.
Her papa. Levi. Sitting in a wooden chair beside the couch, the morning light tracing soft shadows down his profile. He hadn’t noticed she was awake. His hands cradled a photo frame, worn smooth at the edges, and his thumb ghosted across the glass with an almost aching gentleness.
And his lips… moved, still humming.
The sound was raw but soft, nearly a whisper against the silence. Not a melody she recognized, but something that settled into her chest like warmth blooming. Calming. Like the low wind through tall grass or the hush of waves against a shore. It made her longing for someone she couldn’t describe who.
She stayed still, not wanting to break the spell.
He looked different in the pale light. He’s quite tired, but yet seemed different. Like something inside him had been set down for a moment. The usual heaviness in his shoulders had lifted slightly, like he’d allowed himself—just for now—to exist without carrying the weight of a thousand yesterdays. His eyes, though shadowed, weren’t haunted in the same way.
Maybe it was the song. Maybe it was the way he held the picture. Maybe it was the fact he was here at all.
When he finally glanced her way, their eyes met.
Levi blinked, startled—but only just. His gaze softened, and a breath slipped from him, like he’d been holding it for years.
He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her. And then, his voice came quiet—hoarse instead of the soft humming he had been singing the whole time.
“Didn’t mean to wake you, sweetheart. You wanna sleep a little more?”
It wasn’t the first time he called her sweetheart, but the way he said it, so gentle—like the word itself cracked something open in his chest. Like it had been waiting behind his teeth for years.
Liora sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I think I rested enough. The last thing I remember was… the vanilla cake. It had a lot of cream.”
A tiny smirk tugged at Levi’s mouth. “Auntie Hange said, you passed out mid-bite. Impressive.”
She giggled, then yawned. “Morning, Papa.”
“Morning, sweetheart.”
A pause.
Then, her gaze dropped, and something uncertain clouded her eyes. “Why… are we at Auntie Hange and Uncle Erwin’s?” she asked softly. Her voice quivered like paper in the wind. “You’re not… gonna leave me today, right?”
Levi’s expression changed. A flicker of pain ghosted behind his eyes, but he knelt beside the couch, resting a hand lightly over her blanket-covered knee.
“No,” he said, firmly. Gently. “Never, my girl. I’m not going anywhere. Four- I mean Auntie Hange just… missed you. Thought you might sleep better here after your journey yesterday.”
He paused, eyes drifting back to the photo frame still resting on the chair.
“And I… needed to think. About a few things.”
Liora tilted her head. “Like what?”
Levi looked at her. Really looked. He stood again, offering his hand with a strange, tender awkwardness. “Like today is a holiday and it’s been long time since we have an adventure together. What do you say, sweetheart? Wanna go on an adventure with your old man?”
Liora’s smile bloomed slowly, wide and gleaming. She launched forward to wrap her arms around his waist, her little voice muffled against his shirt.
“I’d love that.”
The morning sun shone brightly, casting a golden hue across the streets as Levi and Liora stepped out of Hange and Erwin’s house. It was the first time in a long while that Levi felt a strange kind of peace, as though the air itself had shifted just a little, enough for him to breathe more easily.
It hadn’t been easy to convince them he was truly all right, that he was ready—ready to spend a whole day alone with his daughter. That he was grounded, sane, and steady enough to take her on this small journey of their own. He’s ready.
Liora bounced beside him, her small hand gripping his fingers tightly. He didn’t mind. She always had a way of anchoring him, pulling him gently into the present, making the ghosts of the past just a little quieter.
They began with a simple walk through the city, past familiar shops and market stalls. Liora skipped ahead, pointing at the colorful flowers and grinning at the warm scent of fresh pastries wafting from a nearby bakery.
Levi’s eyes softened. She was so full of life, so much like Y/N in that way—always curious, always reaching forward. It made something deep in him ache and heal all at once.
“Plain…” she read aloud, her voice light and wondering. They stopped in front of a white-and-pink building. The scent was unmistakable. Some people—mostly women—drifted in and out, holding warm bags or drinks. Levi stood still a moment.
“This is the bakery Y/N—I mean, your mom—and I visited on our first date,” he said quietly, almost to himself, his voice caught between nostalgia and surprise at the memory returning so vividly. Liora paused, her gaze lifting to him, full of curiosity.
“Was it a romantic date?” she asked innocently.
Levi blinked. “I don’t know where you learned that word, little miss,” he muttered, glancing down at her with mock sternness, “but I’ll let it slide for today.” His tone softened. “And no, it wasn’t really romantic at all. We spent the whole time arguing.” He gave a small, huffed laugh. “She was a coffee lover; I preferred tea. She liked sugar-coated cookies—just like you. And she always tried to get me the ones with the most icing, which gave me a headache.”
Liora giggled, the kind of laugh that bubbled from her chest. “So, you didn’t like them?”
“Well... they weren’t that bad,” he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Though I could only tolerate the less sweet ones. Still… to impress your mom, I had to force down all that sugar like it was nothing.”
Her laughter came again, unrestrained, lighting her whole face. The sound struck him somewhere deep, a place that still throbbed quietly with grief but bloomed with love.
He checked his watch. “It’s too early for sweets, but if you want, we can stop here. Or—” he knelt slightly, lowering his voice like it was a secret—“we can visit more places, and I’ll buy you a mountain of cookies on our way home. Deal?”
“Deal!” she grinned, and took his hand again without hesitation.
They walked on, the city slowly warming with light and motion. The conversation flowed more easily now. They reached a park near the city’s edge, one Liora had visited before with Hange and Erwin. But today, it felt different.
Levi found a quiet bench beneath an old oak tree. Its gnarled roots curled from the earth like stories etched into the soil. The branches stretched wide, like arms longing to embrace something. He sat down, gesturing for Liora to join him.
“Was this another ‘date’ place with Mama?” she asked, her tone playful, but her eyes curious.
He shook his head slowly. “Not really. We passed through here a lot, but didn’t stop until after we were married. This—” he glanced up at the thick branches overhead, and something in his expression turned soft, almost fragile—“this is where she told me she was pregnant with you.”
Liora’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“She liked this tree,” he said, reaching out to rest a hand against the coarse bark. “She said it looked old and tired.”
“Like Kenny Gramps?” she added, eyes dancing with mischief.
“Exactly like that old man,” Levi replied, matching her grin.
She tilted her head, her gaze following the lines of the branches stretching into the sky. “Do you think this tree will still be here when I’m grown up?”
Levi turned toward her, the question catching him off guard in the softest way. He looked at her, really looked, as though memorizing her in that moment. “I think it’ll be here forever, sweetheart. Just like you will be. Just like your mother is… in here.” He gently tapped over his chest.
The words hung between them, not heavy, but warm—like a blanket on a cool morning.
After a long pause, he added, his voice quiet but steady, “You know, most people say you look like me. Except your eyes—those are all hers. But to me… you’re not half of either of us. You’re everything of both.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, folded photo, carefully sliding it into her hands.
It was old, but clear. A younger Levi, smiling—a rare, open smile—as he looked at a woman with wild red hair and mismatched eyes just like Liora’s. Y/N. Her arms cradled a bundled newborn, sleeping peacefully against her chest.
“That’s my most precious treasure,” Levi said, his voice catching ever so slightly. “After you, of course.” He gave her a look that was soft and proud all at once. “And now… I want it to be yours.”
Liora stared at the photo, her fingers brushing over it gently as though it might dissolve into memory if she touched too hard.
“Papa…”
“Hmm?”
“…Are you happy?”
He turned his head slightly, eyes on the photo for a heartbeat before meeting her gaze. Then, he nodded.
“…Yes.”
“Even though Mama isn’t with us?”
He let out a breath, slow and steady, as though releasing something he’d held onto for far too long.
“She used to say… if you love someone—really love them—and remember them, then they never really leave you. Even when they’re six feet under… or dancing among the stars. They stay with you. In your heart. Forever.” He paused, voice husky. “So yes. I’m happy. Because your mama’s still with me. And with you. She’s in you.”
Liora’s lips curled into a soft, watery smile, her fingers still curled around the photo like it was made of something sacred.
“And I’ll tell you more about her,” Levi added, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Little by little. So, Liora Ackerman… don’t hesitate to ask me. About anything.”
He leaned in and tapped her nose gently. “And don’t go trying to be an adult just yet, you hear me? You’re still tiny, little one. Can you promise me?”
She giggled, then stuck out her pinky. “Okay, Papa. Pinky promise.”
And as the breeze rustled gently through the leaves above them, they sat there—father and daughter—hearts stitched together by grief, by memory, and above all… by love.
*the end*