Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Look, honey. This is our new home now.”

Kuchel smiled brightly, trying to keep her voice light as she nudged the shoulder of her only son. Levi, who had just turned twelve a week ago, stood beside her with his hands tucked deep into his hoodie pockets, gazing up at the house with unreadable eyes.

It looked tired - chipped paint curled away from the wooden frame and the front porch groaned under their steps. A thin layer of dust coated the windows and tangled vines climbed up the sides like claws. But to Kuchel, it was a roof. A place of hope.

Levi gave a half-shrug. “Looks like it’s gonna fall apart.”

Kuchel forced a laugh, ruffling his hair. “Oh, don’t say that. With a little cleaning, it’ll be perfect. Just wait and see.”

She had no choice but to move - they could no longer afford their apartment, not on her factory worker’s salary. When she asked the housing agent for something cheap, they immediately recommended this house.

The offer was almost too good to be true: free rent, for as long as she wanted, with just one condition - take care of the place.

Kuchel hesitated. The house had been empty for twenty years. Was something being hidden from her? Every instinct screamed at her to be cautious, to walk away. But reality didn’t give her the luxury of second-guessing. She needed to save money - for Levi’s education, his health, his future.

So she accepted the offer.

She pushed the fear to the back of her mind.

To her surprise, their first week in the house went smoothly. Too smoothly.

She had braced herself for something strange or supernatural… but nothing happened. No flickering lights. No noises. Nothing. 

Levi also hadn’t mentioned anything so she assumed everything was fine.

Maybe people just avoided it because of how isolated it was. The nearest bus stop was almost three kilometers away. Shops and neighbors? Even farther.

Still, she didn’t mind the walk. 

Kuchel watched Levi as he stood in the living room, staring out the window at the overgrown backyard. His arms were crossed, one foot tapping silently on the worn wooden floor.

“Everything okay?” she asked gently.

He glanced over. “It’s fine.” 

His tone was flat, unreadable. Kuchel could never tell what he really felt whether he liked something or not.

“You know… it’s okay if you hate it here,” she said softly. “We’ll make it better. Just give it some time.”

Levi was quiet for a moment. Then, without looking at her, he muttered, “I don’t care where we are. Just don’t leave.”

Something in her heart twisted at those words.

Levi slumped onto his bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. He hated how powerless he felt - how he couldn’t do anything to help his mom. He hated the tired, worried look on her face.

More than once, he thought about quitting school. 

But that would only make her feel guilty for not being able to give him the life he deserved.

“Levi…”

“Leeevi ~”

He let out a heavy sigh, the irritation bubbling just under his skin. That voice again.

It had been bothering him ever since his first night in the room - soft, drawn-out, almost teasing.

The sound always came from the antique mirror tucked into the corner. Massive, ornate, its frame carved with curling vines and faded gold trim. The housing agent had warned them not to move it when they first arrived. They didn’t ask why - having a roof over their heads was enough reason to stay quiet.

Levi glared at the mirror now, the voice still echoing, firmer than before like it had no intention of stopping.

“What the hell do you want, you fool foxy?” His voice was sharp, biting.

“Always so prickly. Always looking upset.” The voice replied in a sing-song tone, playfully mocking him.

“Just shut up, can you?”

No reply. Just laughter - soft, lilting, echoing like wind dancing through leaves.

From within the glass, something shifted.

Hange Zoe…

That was the name of the girl who appeared in the mirror. She looked about his age, maybe a little younger, but her form was strange - off, like something out of a storybook. Fox ears perched atop her head twitched at every sound, and a fluffy tail swayed lazily behind her. Her amber eyes sparkled with mischief, always watching, always teasing. But her smile… it never quite reached her eyes

Behind her, the mirror no longer reflected his room. Instead, it opened into a wide, sunlit field filled with blooming flowers and tall, swaying trees. The colors were too vivid, too alive like something out of a dream or a world beyond anything he could understand.

Strangely, only he could see her.

No matter how loudly she yelled, laughed or sang, Kuchel never noticed. She couldn’t hear the voice. Couldn’t see the girl. Not even once.

Growing up, Levi had learned that appearance and money were what most people cared about. That was why he had no friends. He didn’t dress well. He didn’t talk much. And most days, he brought lunch in a crumpled plastic bag instead of a bento box.

Hange was the first one who didn’t care.

The first friend he ever had. The only one who stayed this long even if she was a fox.

Her presence had been a part of his life for nearly a year now. He had gradually grown accustomed to her chaos - her loud voice, her bizarre facts, the way she never stopped asking questions. She annoyed him. Constantly. But in the strangest way, it was comforting.

She was loud but it wasn’t the kind of noise that overwhelmed him. It was the kind that filled the silence when the nights got too quiet and too heavy. She filled the space his mother’s absence left when she was off working night shifts.

All he had to do was call her name and she was there.

Always.

They talked often - while he scribbled math homework, folded their laundry on the floor or sat cross-legged at the edge of his bed with a bowl of instant noodles. Hange would appear in the mirror, propped up on her elbows, her fox tail swishing slowly behind her. Sometimes she lay upside down with her legs in the air or pressed her face against the glass to make ridiculous expressions.

“Did you know jellyfish don’t have brains?” she blurted one night, her nose smooshed against the inside of the mirror like a pancake. “Just vibes. Pure vibes!”

Levi didn’t look up from his notebook. “You don’t have a brain either.”

“Ha! You wish,” she grinned, tail flicking. “I bet I have more brain cells than your whole class combined.”

“Still makes zero,” he muttered under his breath.

Sometimes he grunted in response. Sometimes he asked her questions just to shut her up. And sometimes - when he forgot to be on guard - he caught himself smiling. Not big, not wide. Just a slight tug at the corners of his mouth. But it was real.

He still didn’t know what she was. Why she was there. Why only he could see her. 

One night, Levi sat silently in front of the mirror, his elbows resting on his knees. On the other side of the glass, Hange was running through a sea of sand - barefoot and laughing, her hair wild in the wind. She leapt from dune to dune with impossible ease, almost like she was flying. Levi furrowed his brows. There were no vehicles, no paths - just endless sand and somehow, Hange.

She noticed his gaze and twirled around with a grin. “Enjoying the show?”

Levi narrowed his eyes. “Hange…”

“Yeah?”

“How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Jumping from one place to another. And this mirror - it follows you. Like, literally tracks you no matter where you go. How?”

Hange skidded to a stop, panting playfully as she flopped onto the warm sand. “Wanna find out? I could take you around - show you my world.”

He hesitated. “Is that… even allowed?”

“Yeah, why not?” she said, sitting up and brushing the sand off her arms. “You’re the only one who’s ever been granted permission to enter my world.”

Levi blinked. “Why me?”

A faint pink rose across Hange’s cheeks. She smiled - soft and a little mysterious. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

After a beat of silence, Hange leaned forward, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“So… how about it? Would you be interested?” she urged, her voice light but hopeful.

Levi hesitated. The idea still felt strange, unreal but the curiosity tugged at him stronger than before. Slowly, he gave a small nod.

A grin spread across Hange’s face. Without another word, she extended her hand - right through the mirror.

Levi flinched back slightly, startled. “Wait… I can actually go through this thing?”

Her hand remained outstretched, unwavering. “Yeah,” she said with a gentle smile. “You can. Just trust me.”

Levi looked at her hand, then at the shifting world behind her - the sand dunes, the glowing sky, the strange serenity of it all. He swallowed.

“…Okay,” he said quietly, and reached toward her.

His fingers hovered over hers for just a moment - uncertain, suspended in the space between realities. Then, with a quiet breath, he let his hand fall into hers.

Warm. Solid. Real.

The surface of the mirror rippled like water as soon as he made contact. The glass didn’t shatter or resist - it melted around his skin like silk.

Levi’s eyes widened as the sensation crawled up his arm, not painful but strange like walking through a cool mist that shimmered under his skin. His breath caught in his throat. He took one cautious step forward… and the world tipped.

The room behind him vanished. The familiar weight of reality peeled away like a forgotten dream, and in an instant, he was standing barefoot in warm, golden sand under an endless twilight sky.

It was silent - eerily so. No traffic. No humming lights. Just the wind brushing over dunes and the faint laughter of a girl who didn’t belong to any logic he understood.

He turned and found Hange right beside him, her hand still wrapped around his. “See?” she said, her grin softening. “Not so scary.”

Levi looked around - at the ocean of stars above, the sweeping desert, the flowers that somehow bloomed in the sand. His heart beat louder than he liked. “What… is this place?”

“My world,” Hange said simply, her gaze fixed on him. “The part no one else gets to see.”

She let go of his hand but only to start walking backward, arms wide as she called, “Come on, I’ve got a lot to show you.”

Levi didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, staring after her, feeling the warmth of her hand still lingering on his. 

Then, slowly, he followed.

Levi followed Hange through the golden dunes, his steps cautious, eyes darting everywhere. The sand beneath his feet was warm but not scorching - soft, like fine velvet. The sky above them shifted colors in slow, melting gradients - rose-gold, violet, then a strange kind of blue that didn’t exist back home.

“Hange,” he muttered, frowning slightly. “This doesn’t feel real.”

She didn’t stop walking. “Maybe it isn’t. Or maybe your world just forgot how to feel this alive.”

A few steps later, the sand gave way to something else entirely - fields of pale glass flowers that chimed softly in the wind, ringing out notes that made Levi’s chest tighten for reasons he didn’t understand. Each step through them sent soft music rippling through the air.

Hange spun around to face him, walking backward again. “You’re tense,” she said, studying him with a lopsided grin. “You always look like the world’s about to end.”

“Because it usually is,” he muttered, brushing his fingers along the edge of a translucent petal.

“Not here,” she said, and reached up to tap the center of his forehead with a fingertip. “This world doesn’t want anything from you. It just exists. You don’t have to prove anything here.”

Levi didn’t respond. The words sat heavily in his chest, like they’d touched something he hadn’t let anyone near in a long time.

They kept walking until they reached a cliffside overlooking a sea of floating lanterns. The ocean below them wasn’t water - it shimmered like stardust, swirling with constellations and slow-moving memories. Shapes swam beneath its surface: moments, maybe dreams, drifting just out of reach.

Hange plopped down on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling freely. “This is my favorite part,” she said, patting the space beside her.

Levi sat, unsure why he obeyed so easily. “You’ve really been alone here this whole time?”

She gave a little shrug, eyes fixed on the glowing tide. “Alone, yeah. But not lonely.” She turned to him, her expression gentler now. “Until you started watching.”

That hit him harder than he expected.

He looked away, staring down into the stars. “…I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t,” Hange said. “You’re the only one who ever looked without trying to change what they saw.”

The quiet stretched between them, filled only by the soft rustle of dream-wind and the music of the flowers behind them.

Then Hange nudged him with her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Levi admitted quietly. “But this place… it doesn’t feel wrong.”

Hange smiled, eyes catching the light of the starlit sea. “Good. Because you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Levi hesitated, gaze flicking back toward the path they came from. The horizon behind them looked endless now - no sign of the mirror, no tether to where he came from.

“I can’t stay long,” he said cautiously. “My mom will come looking for me.”

Hange let out a soft laugh, amused and understanding all at once. “No worries,” she said, kicking her heels against the cliffside. “The moment you stepped into this world… time stopped ticking.”

Levi blinked. “What?”

“Out there, everything’s still exactly as you left it. You could spend hours here, days even and when you return, only a second will have passed.”

He frowned, skeptical. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Neither do talking mirrors, glass flowers or floating memories,” Hange said, raising an eyebrow. “And yet…”

Levi didn’t argue. He looked out across the shifting sky, his reflection caught in the sea of starlight below. It was peaceful in a way that made him uneasy like he wasn’t sure if it was safe or if it was too safe.

Hange watched him quietly for a moment, then said, “You don’t have to trust the world. Just trust me.”

Levi glanced at her - really looked this time. Her face was soft in the twilight, eyes bright but steady, her chaotic energy unusually calm. Like this place had softened her too. 

He gave a small nod. “Alright. Show me what’s next.”

Hange lit up like a sunrise. “Come on, then,” she said, hopping to her feet and dusting off the sand from her clothes. “I’ve got something special to show you.” 

She held out her hand again and this time, Levi didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed it firmly, his grip tighter than before. There was no more confusion in his eyes, no more doubt in the way his fingers curled around hers. He was still wary but determined now. Ready.

They walked in silence for a while - hand in hand - long enough that Levi stopped wondering how far they were going or whether they’d ever reach the edge of this place. The world here didn’t follow rules. It shifted around them: dunes turned to fields, starlight melted into fog, and soon, they stepped into a quiet grove bathed in soft golden light.

A garden stretched out before them - silent, endless, glowing. It was filled with plants Levi couldn’t name. Trees with silver leaves shimmered in the wind. Vines draped lazily over stone arches. Flowers bloomed in shades not found in the waking world - some transparent, some glowing, some humming softly like lullabies.

“This is the Memory Garden,” Hange said quietly beside him. “Every flower here is a memory - some mine, some not. Step gently.”

Levi glanced at her. “Do they belong to you?”

“Some,” she admitted. “But the garden… it grows on its own. Sometimes it catches fragments from those who pass through even people you’ve never met. But yours…” she turned, eyes glittering, “some of yours are here now too.”

Levi stiffened. “Mine?”

She nodded toward a narrow trail between tall white irises. “Want to see?”

Something about the idea unnerved him but curiosity, again, won out. He followed her into the path, his fingers brushing past petals that shimmered with faint images: a pair of muddy shoes, a broken teacup, his mother humming under dim kitchen light.

Each memory flickered just at the edge of recognition.

Then he paused.

A small, deep blue flower had bloomed alone on a stone pedestal. Inside its petals, Levi saw himself as a child, curled up under a thin blanket in a cold room, staring at a flickering ceiling light. He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He just endured.

Hange was quiet behind him.

Levi’s throat tightened. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” she said gently. “But this world… it shows what you carry. Even the parts you don’t speak out loud.”

He looked at her. “Why show me this?”

She stepped closer. “Because you’re always trying to make sense of everyone else’s pain but not your own. I thought maybe… if you saw it from the outside, it wouldn’t feel so heavy.”

Levi looked away, jaw tight. The garden was too quiet now as if holding its breath.

But then Hange touched his arm, her voice light again. “Come on. There’s one more place I want to show you. We call it the Mirrorwell.”

They left the garden behind, crossing into a clearing where the earth opened up into a vast circular pool - still and dark, like polished obsidian. The Mirrorwell didn’t shimmer like the sea of memories. It absorbed light. Reflected nothing.

“This is the place of hidden truths,” Hange said, folding her arms. “You don’t see what you want. You see what is.”

Levi stared down into the water, and slowly - hesitantly, took a step closer.

His reflection didn’t meet his eyes.

Instead, the surface shifted and showed him moments he’d buried: the bitter anger he felt when no one listened. The guilt he carried for being helpless. The loneliness that crept in even when he was surrounded by others. Every mask he wore. Every time he told himself he didn’t need anyone.

And then, he saw Hange.

Not as she was now but the moment she first appeared in the mirror back home - her chaotic smile, the wild light in her eyes, the way she waved at him like they’d known each other forever.

And somehow, that memory filled his chest with an unexplainable warmth - quiet and unfamiliar like sunlight slipping through a crack in a wall he didn’t know he’d built.

He looked up at her now. “Why am I seeing you in it?”

Hange shrugged, her expression softening - shy, almost vulnerable, for the first time. “Maybe because I let you be you,” she said, voice quiet. “And maybe… because there’s more I haven’t told you yet.”

She smiled faintly, eyes flicking to the reflection in the Mirrorwell. “But I will. Someday.”

Without realizing it, eight years had passed since they first met. Eight years of everything - of quiet milestones and loud emotions.

She was there on Levi’s birthdays, even when he pretended not to care. She’d pop up in the mirror wearing a ridiculous party hat, holding a slice of toast with a candle stuck in it - grinning like she’d just invented cake. He’d roll his eyes, but the corners of his mouth would twitch before he could stop them.

She was there when he got into a fight at school and came home simmering with anger, pacing his room in silence. Hange didn’t scold or pry - she just appeared quietly, watching him from her side of the mirror, offering the kind of company that didn’t ask for anything in return. Then, after a long pause, she tilted her head and said, “Want me to fight them for you?”

She was there when his mom got promoted to manager at the factory, beaming with pride as she watched how happy he was. There when they decided to renovate the house, mock-arguing over paint colors and curtain lengths like it actually mattered. She was there when his mom bought their first car - an old, dented thing that wheezed louder than it drove but to them, it was freedom. And Hange had cheered like they’d just won a race.

So many ordinary moments. So many quiet firsts. And through it all, Hange was there.

She never left. Not even once.

Not quite part of his world, but somehow woven into it all the same. A constant. A strange, brilliant thread running quietly through the years of his life.

“Happy 20th birthday, Levi Ackerman,” Hange said as she walked up to him, balancing a small strawberry cake in her hands, the candles flickering like tiny stars.

Levi slowly opened his eyes to the golden haze of the grove - the same strange, soft light that always bathed her world. He hadn’t even realized he’d drifted off but there she was, as real as ever.

He blinked, still groggy. “You baked that?”

“I manifested it,” she corrected proudly. “Same effort, less mess.”

The scent of strawberries drifted between them. He sat up, eyeing the cake with a guarded sort of amusement.

“You remembered,” he said quietly.

Hange tilted her head, grinning. “Of course I did. I’ve never missed your birthday, Levi. Not once in eight years.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh - soft, disbelieving. His heart swelled with something warm and unsteady, joy mixing with something deeper… something like affection he hadn’t dared name before.

“That’s… longer than anyone else,” he murmured.

Hange’s grin softened. Her eyes still sparkled with mischief, but there was something gentler beneath it now. Something steady.

“Then I’m glad I’ve stayed,” she said.

“Come on,” she added, nudging the cake closer. “Make a wish. Blow the candles.”

Levi brought his hands together and closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer. Hange watched him, smiling like she always did like she’d been waiting for this moment all day.

When he opened his eyes and leaned forward to blow out the candles, she leaned in too. And without warning, she pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday, again,” she whispered.

Levi froze.

For a second, he couldn’t even breathe. The warmth of her lips lingered on his skin, light as a whisper but it struck him harder than any blow. His heartbeat stuttered, then picked up again - too fast, too loud in his ears.

He didn’t look at her right away. Instead, he stared at the extinguished candles, as if they might give him something to say.

“…You didn’t warn me,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

Hange only laughed, not apologetic in the slightest. “That’s what makes it special.”

Levi finally turned to face her. She was smiling - messy, radiant, completely unbothered and something inside him twisted, uncertain and tender.

He didn’t smile back, not quite. But his shoulders eased, and his gaze softened.

And somehow, Levi didn’t mind that as much as he thought he would.

His brain told him to leave it there - to keep things simple, safe, familiar. But his heart, for once, didn’t listen.

Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in and pressed a quick, quiet kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Hange blinked, startled - just for a beat. Then her face lit up, warmth spreading across her features like sunlight breaking through clouds. Without a word, her tail curled gently around Levi’s waist, drawing them closer, wrapping them in a quiet kind of comfort. It wasn’t just for warmth - it was instinctive, protective. And it made something in his chest ache in the best, most confusing way.

“For the kiss or the cake?” she teased, her voice softer now, almost shy beneath the usual mischief.

Levi didn’t answer. He just looked at her, steady and unblinking and for once, didn’t look away.

The sky above shifted, its colors painting their emotions across the heavens. A soft pink hue bloomed overhead a gentle, warm, and impossibly tender - mirroring the unspoken connection between the two figures standing hand in hand. They hadn’t said it aloud, not really, but the world around them understood. It responded in kind.

“Hange…”

“Hmm?”

“Maybe we should live here together,” Levi said, voice quiet but steady. “I could survive anything…”

That made Hange perk up in surprise. She turned her head sharply to look at him - just as he reached a hand toward the sky, his expression open, almost joyful.

“Since you’re here,” he added, barely above a whisper. A blush bloomed at the tips of his ears, soft and pink like the sky.

Hange fidgeted silently, her fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves. But Levi didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t need one. He knew - that was what she wanted, too.

After a quiet moment, he turned to her again.

“Hange… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

She looked at him, eyes curious and alert.

“The mirror in my room,” he said slowly. “It’s been dim lately. Like it’s losing its light. Is that… something I should worry about?”

Hange had never truly prepared for this moment - not even when they first made contact, not even after all the years of watching him grow. But now, with his hand in hers and the sky soft and pink above them, she knew it was time.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, her voice quieter than before.

Levi’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m listening.”

She took a breath, then let the words fall.

“I’ll vanish soon.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud but it pressed at the edges of everything. The warmth between them dimmed just slightly, like the sun slipping behind a cloud.

Hange took a breath, her fingers curling slightly tighter around his.

“I’ll vanish… the moment the mirror shows your reflection instead of my world.”

His brows drew together, confusion flickering across his face. “W–what did you say? How?”

Her eyes softened with something close to sorrow.

“Every time you entered my world, Levi… I absorbed the negativity from you - your pain, your doubt, your anger. And in return, you absorbed the light from me. The hope. The wonder. That was the balance. That was the cost.”

She paused, watching the way his expression shifted - realization blooming slowly.

Levi looked down, his brows furrowed. His fingers twitched slightly at his side, like he was trying to ground himself.

Levi looked down, brows furrowed. His fingers twitched slightly at his side, like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

“So… you’re saying…” He struggled for the words. “All this time, all the happiness, the chances I got - the life I’ve been living… it was because of you?”

Hange gave a faint, sad smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”

His head snapped up. “What the hell were you thinking?! You knew this would cost you everything - and you still did it?!”

His voice cracked at the edges, the anger barely covering the grief rising behind it.

“I love you,” Hange said quietly.

He froze.

“Because I love you, Levi.”

Her voice didn’t waver. It didn’t need to. The truth in it was too full, too final.

“The Mirrorwall showed me that you’re my soulmate,” she continued, “even though we live in different universes.”

She let out a breath, eyes shimmering with something fragile and raw.

“Call me greedy or foolish, or whatever you want… but I wanted to feel you. To touch you. To talk to you without a gap - even if that gap was a mirror.”

Her gaze dropped, fingers curling slightly.

“I knew what it would cost me. I knew this would mean giving up my own life, piece by piece. But even so… I wanted to remember you.”

Levi stared at her like she’d just torn the ground out from beneath him.

“You knew this would happen,” he said slowly, voice thick with disbelief. “You knew and you still chose this?”

Hange didn’t look away. That made it worse somehow.

He took a step back, then forward again, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His breath caught in his throat.

“No. No, this doesn’t have to be how it ends,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “There’s gotta be something I can do. Something to stop this.”

He turned, scanning the grove, like the trees or the sky might offer him a way out, some loophole he hadn’t seen before.

“You can’t just vanish,” he said hoarsely. “You’ve been here for everything - for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. And now that I finally - finally - get it, you’re just going to disappear?”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Hange stepped forward, placing her hand gently on his chest. “Levi -”

“No.” He grabbed her hand tightly, like she might start fading right there. “You said I kept you here. Then let me keep you now.”

Her eyes shimmered with pain. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then make it work like that!” he snapped. “You changed the rules before - just being here, you broke them. Do it again.”

The sky above them darkened, the soft pinks bleeding into gray, clouds curling like sorrow overhead. The light around them dimmed as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Silence stretched between them - thick, trembling, too full of the things they hadn’t said until now.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Hange’s hand trembled as it cupped his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye. “I know,” she said, voice tender. “I don’t want to go either.”

Levi’s jaw tightened but he didn’t pull away.

“I’ve loved being here with you,” she continued. “Even when I could only reach you through a mirror. Even when you didn’t talk. Even when you hated birthdays and refused to let anyone in - I stayed because every moment with you was worth it.”

Levi’s throat tightened. “Then come with me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Come into my world,” he said, eyes searching hers. “If you’re going to vanish here, then come where I can keep you. Where you don’t have to fade.”

Hange’s expression shifted - sorrow, hesitation, and something close to hope flickering all at once.

“There’s… a condition,” she said carefully.

“I don’t care. I’ll do it.”

“You have to take a life,” Hange said quietly. “A sacrifice. Something living… in exchange for mine. That’s the only way I can cross into your world and stay.”

Levi froze.

The air around them stilled. Even the wind seemed to pull back, waiting.

He stared at her, eyes dark and unreadable. “You mean - l - someone else?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then finally, with a quiet breath, “Yes.”

The word dropped like a stone between them.

Levi looked away, jaw tight, chest rising and falling with something heavier than breath. 

His mind raced - shards of memory and feeling cutting through him like glass. The nights he’d sat in silence while she told him stories through the mirror. The warmth of her voice when the world felt cold. Her stupid jokes. Her stubborn presence. The way she always stayed.

Eight years.

Eight years of her being the only constant when everything else changed.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run - but his feet wouldn’t move. Because the thought of going back to his world without her felt like walking into a life drained of color.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white.

There had to be another way.

There had to be.

He couldn’t accept that this was the only answer that the only way to keep her was to destroy someone else.

“I will find another way to bring you back,” Levi said, voice low but steady.

Hange’s eyes widened slightly. Not from disbelief - never that. She had always known the fire behind his quiet. But hearing it now, feeling the weight of his words, something in her flickered - hope or heartbreak, she couldn’t tell.

“Levi…”

“No,” he said, meeting her gaze now. “You stayed by my side for eight years. You saved me more times than I can count - whether I knew it or not. So don’t ask me to give up on you.”

A gust of wind stirred the golden grove as if the world itself was listening.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” he continued. “Or what rules I have to break. You said this mirror let us find each other once. I’ll make it happen again. I’ll tear the walls between us apart if I have to.”

Hange’s expression trembled - caught between pride, fear, and something deep and aching.

“But Levi… even if you do, I might not come back the same.”

“I don’t need the same,” he said. “I just need you.”

The sky above them turned the softest shade of violet. Not sorrow. Not joy. Something in between like the moment right before dawn.

Levi was determined to find the owner of the house. He believed it might be the only way to make sense of all this -  unravel the truth behind the mirror, the world Hange came from and maybe, just maybe, find a way to bring her back.

The chances were slim - he knew that. But the smallest sliver of hope was enough to keep him moving. It had to be.

Without hesitation, he threw essentials into his backpack: a flashlight, a notebook filled with everything he’d documented about Hange’s world over the years, the small broken shard of the mirror he’d hidden away and the last note she had left him - just in case he forgot how her handwriting looked when doubt threatened to blur her memory.

He stood in the middle of his room, glancing at the mirror one last time. Its surface was dull now. Cold. Empty. No trace of her laughter or her light. Just his own reflection staring back, lonelier than ever.

“I’m coming for you,” he murmured.

Then he turned, stepped outside and locked the door behind him. The house creaked as if watching him leave, and the wind carried the scent of something old - something waiting.

Somewhere out there, the person who gave them this house - the one who started it all - held the answers.

And Levi was going to find them.

Levi began his search with the only lead he had: the agent who had offered them the house all those years ago. She might have a way to contact the owner or at least know something more than she’d let on back then.

He found her office still tucked away behind the old bookstore on Main Street. It looked exactly the same, like time hadn’t touched it. The same faded blinds, the same rusted bell above the door that jingled when he stepped inside.

The agent blinked in surprise when she saw him. “Levi Ackerman? It’s been… years.”

“I need a favor,” he said, getting straight to the point. “I need the contact information for the owner of that house you gave us.”

She hesitated, her polite smile faltering. “I’m sorry but that’s confidential. I’m not allowed to share client information.”

Levi clenched his fists, jaw tight. He’d expected this. Still, he tried again.

“It’s about the mirror in my room,” he said quietly.

That made her pause.

“The mirror…?” she echoed, her voice wary now.

He nodded, his voice raw. “The one you asked to not move around. It’s not just a mirror, is it? You know that. Please. I’m desperate.”

The room seemed to still. The fluorescent light above them flickered once.

The agent’s eyes searched his face, reading something deeper there - something that made her expression shift from resistance to unease.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” she murmured after a long silence. “The owner said the house would ‘choose its person’… and that the mirror would know when it was time.”

Levi stepped closer, his voice low. “Then the time is now. Please.”

The agent hesitated a beat longer… then, with a resigned sigh, reached beneath the counter. She pulled out a locked drawer and retrieved a worn folder.

“His name isn’t listed in any registry,” she said, thumbing through papers. “But I kept this… just in case.”

She slid a yellowed business card across the counter.

The name printed on it was simple. Elegant.

Erwin Smith

Curator of Bound Spaces

Appointments by request only.

There was no phone number. Only an address - handwritten, slightly smudged at the bottom.

Levi took the card, his grip tightening around it like it might disappear at any moment.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the agent said softly. “Because once you step into his world, there’s no guarantee you’ll return the same.”

Levi met her eyes. “I’m not here for guarantees.”

Levi spent seven hours on a train, watching the scenery blur past - cities fading into farmland, then into forests swallowed by fog. After that, a two-hour bus ride through narrow, winding roads brought him deeper into the quiet.

By the time he stepped off, twilight had settled over the land. The air here was colder, thinner like the world held its breath just a little longer. He checked the card one last time. The address ended at the edge of a woodland path, barely visible beneath creeping moss and overgrown grass.

No signposts. No gates. Just the card in his hand and the unshakable pull of something waiting.

Levi followed the path.

It twisted and narrowed, roots buckling through the soil, thorned branches brushing his shoulders. After a while, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Then the trees parted and he saw it.

A house.

Old but not abandoned. The kind of structure that looked like it remembered things. Stone walls dark with age, ivy climbing over its spine, windows flickering faintly with candlelight. It wasn’t large but it had a presence like it belonged to the forest or  maybe ruled it.

He stepped closer. A brass plaque was fixed beside the heavy wooden door.

Erwin Smith

Curator of Bound Spaces

By appointment only.

Levi knocked.

Silence.

Then soft footsteps, deliberate and slow. The door creaked open and the man standing behind it looked exactly like someone who watched the line between realities for a living.

Tall. Blond. Calm. His eyes were piercing but not unkind, as though he already knew who Levi was and why he’d come.

“You must be Levi Ackerman,” the man said. “You weren’t expected.”

Levi tightened his grip on the card. “I need your help.”

Erwin studied him for a long moment. “Help comes with a cost. Especially for someone who’s already touched the veil.”

“I don’t care,” Levi said. “Just tell me what I have to do to bring her back.”

The forest rustled behind him like it heard the words.

Erwin stepped aside. “Then come in. We’ll see if the world agrees with your desperation.”

The door closed behind him with a sound that felt too final, like a line had been drawn in the air.

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Not cold, not exactly warm either - just still. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with worn tomes, strange instruments, jars of liquid humming faintly. There were maps too not of countries but of impossible things. Lines that looped back on themselves, places labeled with emotions instead of names: regret, longing, sacrifice.

Erwin walked ahead with slow, sure steps, guiding Levi through the narrow halls until they reached a room at the center of the house. It had no windows. Just a circular table carved with sigils and in the center of it, an ornate hourglass filled with silver sand that didn’t fall unless you looked away.

“This is the Binding Room,” Erwin said. “Where requests are measured and intentions are weighed.”

Levi didn’t speak. His eyes were already fixed on the hourglass.

Erwin gestured toward a chair. “Sit. Tell me everything.”

And Levi did. He spoke of the house, the mirror, the world beyond it. He spoke of Hange - of eight years of laughter and light, of the way she stood in his life like a shadow and a promise. He told Erwin about her fading, the warning, the mirror beginning to dim.

When he finally stopped, the silence in the room felt heavier than before.

Erwin exhaled, resting a hand on the table. “You’ve already been altered by her world. That’s why you’re still able to feel it, even as it closes.”

“Then that means I still have time,” Levi said quickly.

“Yes. But not much.”

Erwin rose and moved to a shelf. He pulled out a thin, leather-bound book and opened it slowly, flipping through pages until he found what he needed.

“There is a path,” he said, “but it’s not safe. And it’s not kind.”

“I didn’t ask for safety,” Levi replied. “Just tell me what to do.”

Erwin looked at him, the corner of his mouth twitching in something almost like admiration.

“There’s a realm between the boundaries - between death and memory. It’s called the Unrooted. Hange’s presence is tethered there now, neither lost nor living.”

“And I can go there?”

“You can try. But you’ll need a key - one that links you to her not by chance but by truth. Something that binds your soul to hers.”

Levi reached into his coat pocket without hesitation and pulled out a thin, folded paper - slightly yellowed at the edges. It was the note Hange had once slipped through the mirror on his seventeenth birthday.

He held it out to Erwin. “She wrote this. It’s the first thing I ever touched from her side.”

Erwin accepted it with care, eyes scanning the handwriting.

“This will do,” he said quietly. “Now listen closely, Levi Ackerman. What lies ahead will test every part of you - memory, love, will. If you lose your way, you won’t return. If you doubt her, she won’t appear.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, but his voice was steady. “I won’t lose her. Not again.”

Erwin nodded once.

“Then prepare yourself. At dawn, the gate will open.”

Levi stepped through the threshold of the weathered cabin, and the world behind him seemed to close like a door. The scent of earth, ash and something older clung to the air. Inside, the space was dim but not cold - lit by candlelight and the flickering pulse of something humming just beneath the wooden floorboards.

Erwin moved with quiet purpose, setting a kettle atop a small stove and pulling out a map from a shelf packed with books that looked like they could speak if coaxed properly.

“This is the Unrooted,” Erwin said, spreading the parchment. “It’s not a place you walk into. It’s a realm of choices, regrets and unresolved truths. You’ll be walking through memory, through want, through everything you’ve buried or refused to name.”

Levi scanned the markings - crooked paths, inked lakes, something called the Hollow Orchard and a jagged mountain simply labeled The Cost.

“And if I reach the end?” Levi asked.

Erwin met his gaze. “Then maybe the world will let her stay. But you won’t leave unchanged. That’s not a warning. It’s a fact.”

Levi’s grip tightened at his sides. “I’m not afraid.”

“You should be,” Erwin said gently. “But love has never made sense of fear.”

With that, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a mirror shard wrapped in cloth. “Take this. It’s a piece of her light - what remains tethered to your world. It’ll guide you if you lose your way. But beware: if it dims, it means you’re running out of time.”

Levi took it with both hands, feeling a familiar warmth in the center of his chest like Hange’s laugh echoing in a distant dream.

Then Erwin opened the back door of the cabin except it no longer looked like a door. It looked like a corridor made of starlight and shadows, with the air bending around it like a heartbeat.

“Once you step through, the path will shape itself to your will. Don’t lie to yourself, Levi. The Unrooted punishes falsehood.”

Without hesitation, Levi stepped into the corridor.

The world behind him disappeared in a hush of wind.

And the journey began.

The world beyond shimmered like it was underwater. Levi stood in a vast, liminal landscape where the sky was liquid silver, and the ground beneath him shifted - memory and dust swirling beneath each step. In the distance, trees made of bone and starlight leaned toward him like they were listening.

“Where do I begin?” he whispered.

A voice - not Erwin’s, not Hange’s - answered from nowhere:

With what you fear most.

The world twisted.

He was back in his childhood home. The lights flickered overhead. The walls felt closer than they ever had. At the stove stood his mother, coughing softly - too softly. But when she turned, it wasn’t her face he saw. It was Hange’s - pale, flickering like a dying flame. Not some ghostly imitation or fractured vision - this Hange looked real. Human.

“You let me fade,” she said - not accusing, just… broken.

Levi staggered back. “This isn’t real.”

But the illusion held. Then, the walls peeled apart like old paper, revealing four doors carved into ancient wood. Each was labeled with a single word:

• Regret
  
  
• Truth
  
  
• Love
  
  
• Sacrifice
  
  

He opened the one marked Truth.

Inside bloomed the Memory Garden. Flowers unfurled from the soil, each one holding a memory not of shared time but of mirrored connection - Levi watching the mirror, guarded and silent, and Hange watching him from the other side, eyes wide with hope. He saw the first moment he unknowingly smiled in her direction. The time she placed her palm on the glass, whispering to no one but him.

At the center of the garden stood a mirror - cracked, glowing.

When he looked into it, he didn’t see his reflection. He saw her.

Hange was whispering something he couldn’t hear. He stepped closer until the words finally reached him:

“Find me at the place where we first touched.”

Then the mirror dissolved, petal by petal and the Memory Garden wilted into mist.

A faint sound stirred - a soft shimmer like footsteps in snow and a pale light flared in the distance. The world bent again.

Now, Levi stood before an archway of twisted black roots veined with threads of gold. Etched above it in a language that felt older than time:

Only what’s hidden can guide you forward.

He stepped through.

There was no path - only a shifting labyrinth of glass and shadow. The walls whispered to him, reflections of his deepest thoughts chasing him down every corridor.

“I should’ve looked sooner.”

“She waited so long.”

“She kept hoping even when I gave her nothing.”

He grit his teeth. “This place is a damn parasite.” But he kept going.

At the maze’s heart, he found it - a circular chamber lit only by the soft pulse of a well.

The air was thick with silence.

From deep within, a voice rose - not from outside, but inside himself:

“The well reveals what you couldn’t face. In her. In you. Drink.”

Levi stepped forward. The water was still, like glass. But when he looked, it shimmered - then shifted.

He saw her.

Not the Hange he remembered in moments of joy, but the one who was alone. The first time she appeared in the mirror - her smile bright, trembling with hope. How it faltered when he didn’t show. And still, she kept returning, waiting. Hoping.

He saw the night their reflections met for the first time - how she reached out and whispered, “Worth it,” knowing he couldn’t hear her.

His hand dipped into the water.

It turned to fire.

Pain surged through him - memories not his, searing into bone. Her solitude. Her fear. Her unwavering devotion. Her love.

He gasped and staggered back, chest heaving.

Something had changed.

He was no longer just himself. He carried parts of her now - her warmth, her ache, her resilience.

And in that moment, he understood.

The “place where we first touched” wasn’t a room. It was a moment - when he finally saw her, truly saw her. The first time he reached out toward the hand she held out for him, waiting - mirror to mirror, hearts colliding. That spark.

That was the key.

And he wasn’t finished.

The Unrooted still breathed - shifting, waiting. Four doors remained. Truth had closed behind him, its garden fading into silence. But from the center of this world, a thread of light emerged - glowing, steady, like moonlight spun into silk.

It curled through the dust beneath his feet.

He followed.

Each step heavier, not with doubt but with resolve. With meaning.

The thread led him to the next door: Regret.

He stood before it, hand poised over the handle.

Then, without hesitation, he stepped through.

Levi stepped into a space that wasn’t a room but a horizon - a gray, endless expanse stretching in every direction, thick with fog that tasted like ash.

There was no floor, only water beneath his boots, impossibly shallow and perfectly still, reflecting everything and nothing.

Above him, the sky wept memories.

One by one, they fell - ghostlike visions that struck the water and vanished:

• The day he looked into the mirror and turned away.
  
  
• The moment he almost reached out then curled his fingers back.
  
  
• The nights he felt the pull but convinced himself it was weakness.
  
  
• The silence he offered instead of words.
  
  
• The time he saw her smile and looked away, pretending it didn’t matter.
  
  

They weren’t accusations.

They were possibilities - what could’ve been, had he only answered.

In the distance, he saw her again.

Not the glowing, hopeful version of her. Not the flickering spirit.

Just Hange.

Sitting alone in the mirror, knees drawn to her chest, back pressed to the cold wall behind her. The light around her was dim but her eyes still searched for him.

Still.

Still.

He took a step but the water deepened. Another step, and it pulled at his knees. The weight of everything he hadn’t done dragged at his body like chains.

“I wasn’t ready,” he murmured.

His voice echoed back:

And she waited anyway.

He sank to his knees.

The water was up to his chest now, cold and heavy. It wasn’t trying to drown him - it wanted him to feel it. Every inch. Every second he’d stayed silent. Every gesture he’d withheld.

“I thought my actions were enough… that they’d show her how I felt,” he said, voice low, trembling

But all it did was leave her lonely.

He looked up and she was gone.

Only the mirror remained, floating in the mist.

Not cracked.

Not glowing.

Just still.

He stepped toward it.

This time, his own reflection stared back. But when he lifted his hand, the reflection didn’t move.

Instead, another hand appeared - hers - pressing softly against the other side of the glass. 

And this time, he pressed his hand to meet it.

The mirror warmed beneath his touch - not with fire, not with pain but with something quieter.

Understanding.

Her voice reached him - not from the mirror, not from memory but from somewhere deeper.

“You came back.”

He closed his eyes.

“I never left,” he whispered. “I’m finding the way to bring you back.”

The water receded.

The fog lifted.

The door behind him closed with a hush, like a final breath.

And above, in the sky that had always been silver and cold, a single star burned.

He turned.

The thread of light was waiting once more, winding forward through the dust and memory.

Love.

The thread led him down a path unlike the others.

This time, there was no shifting maze, no oppressive mist, no looming visions from the past. Just silence and a soft warmth underfoot. The silver dust gave way to earth, real earth, rich and dark and alive beneath his boots.

And then he saw it.

A room - not built of stone or memory but of light. Its walls shimmered like glass in sunlight, rippling gently, like the surface of a lake. At the center stood a table. Two chairs. A teapot. Two mismatched cups.

Levi stared at them.

They were from his home.

No - their home. The one that never truly existed. The one they might have had if things had been different. The one he sometimes saw in dreams and dismissed the next morning.

He stepped closer.

The chair across from him pulled back slightly, as if inviting him to sit.

So he did.

Steam rose from the cups, curling like memory. It smelled like her - ginger, honey, something sharp and warm and unexpected.

Then the opposite chair filled with light. It gathered slowly, like dew forming. Then limbs. Then her shape. And then, finally - her.

Hange.

Not ghost. Not echo. Not flame.

Just… her. As he remembered her in the quiet moments. Soft hair. Clear eyes. Hands were always fidgeting with something invisible. That tired, crooked smile that always made him forget how broken the world was.

“You found this place,” she said, softly. “Not many do.”

He didn’t speak. Not right away. His hand reached for the teacup. It was warm in his fingers, grounding.

“You were always there,” he murmured. “On the other side. I just… didn’t know how to cross.”

“You did,” she said, gently. “You’re doing it now.”

He looked at her - really looked at her.

“You waited.”

“I hoped.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of everything they never said, of time that had never been theirs, of moments unlived but deeply imagined.

“I didn’t know how to show you,” he admitted, eyes downcast. “What I felt. What I still feel.”

“You’re showing me now,” she whispered.

She reached across the table.

He didn’t hesitate.

He took her hand.

And this time, there was no glass between them.

No shimmer. No barrier. Just skin against skin. A warmth that spread from his fingertips to his chest, blooming slow and deep.

“You found me,” she said again.

“No,” he breathed. “I chose you. Over and over.”

The room brightened.

The light filled the walls, the sky, the ground beneath them.

When he looked down again, she was gone but the warmth remained. Not absence. Not loss. Something carried within him now. Permanent.

The table, the chairs, the cups - everything faded into dust and light.

Behind him, the door closed.

Before him, the thread of light moved once more.

One trial remained.

Sacrifice.

The thread of light guided him once more, slower this time, as if it too was hesitant. Levi followed, each step heavier, the ground beneath him colder, quieter. The sky dimmed - not the silver shimmer of earlier, but a soft, ash-gray like mourning cloth drawn over the world.

Eventually, he reached a door that stood taller than the rest. Unlike the others, it bore no carving. No name.

But he knew.

Sacrifice.

He pushed it open.

And stepped into silence.

The world on the other side wasn’t strange or distorted. It was… still. A plain room. A table. A single chair. A cup, untouched. The air held the smell of ink, dust, and chamomile. Not memories but something more personal.

Familiar.

This was her space.

Not a real place he’d ever walked through in waking life but a reflection of all the spaces Hange had occupied in his world - the quiet corners, the ones she filled without asking. The ones that ached with her absence now.

At the center stood a mirror. Not glowing. Not cracked. Just tall and painfully clean.

She was already there- on the other side.

Not a ghost. Not a flickering version of her. Just Hange, as she had been. Tired. Brave. Solid.

But she didn’t smile this time.

“Why did you come this far?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “You could’ve let me fade.”

Levi didn’t answer immediately. His throat burned. His hands curled into fists.

“Because you didn’t let me,” he finally said. “Even when I didn’t look… you stayed.”

She lowered her gaze. “I stayed because I had to. Because you were always destined for me. My soulmate.”

The word landed in his chest like a stone.

She wasn’t blaming him.

She never had.

“I was afraid,” he confessed. “Of failing. Of… what we were. You and I came from different worlds. I didn’t know if it was real.”

“You didn’t fail me,” she said softly. “You loved me. You just didn’t know how to show it until it was too late.”

Silence stretched between them. Long. Honest.

“I would’ve traded the world to see your smile,” she said softly. “But I gave up everything so you could keep breathing.”

Levi stared at her, throat tight. There were no words big enough to meet that kind of love - no apology deep enough to reach the space she’d carved out for him through loss.

“I never wanted you to pay that price,” he said, voice low. “I would’ve traded places with you.”

“But you didn’t,” she replied, not with blame but with truth. “And maybe that’s what had to happen. Maybe… I was always meant to burn so you could carry the light.”

His hands trembled. “I didn’t ask for that light. I only wanted you.”

Hange smiled gently, and it was the kind of smile that cracked through time.

And suddenly, the room changed.

Behind her - behind the mirror was darkness. Wind. Cold. Pulling her back.

She didn’t fight it.

“Wait,” he breathed. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered. “Not unless you’re ready.”

He stepped forward. So did she.

The wind grew stronger. Her image flickered.

“Then take it,” he said, voice sharp now. “Whatever you need from me. Take it.”

She looked up.

“Even if it means losing everything?”

“If it brings you back - yes.”

The mirror began to crack - not from weakness, but from choice. From will.

And then -

She lifted her hand again.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

Their palms met.

And the cracks spread in golden lines like veins of light. The barrier between them, for the first time, broke.

The wind stopped.

The silence returned.

But this time, she didn’t disappear.

She stepped forward.

So did he.

Their foreheads touched.

And all around them, the broken glass rose into the air, spinning, reweaving - not into a barrier but a bridge.

He had chosen her.

And in return - 

She had chosen to stay.

The thread of light returned, curling like a ribbon between their feet.

But it no longer led him forward alone.

This time, she walked beside him.

One trial remained.

But now -

He wasn’t facing it alone.

The world around them shifted one last time.

Not violently. Not with disorientation or pain.

But with stillness.

As if the Unrooted itself had been holding its breath, waiting for this moment.

Levi and Hange stood at the edge of a wide, silent field.

No sky. No horizon.

Only mist curling gently at their feet and a vast expanse of stillness ahead like the calm between heartbeats.

“What is this place?” Hange whispered.

Levi shook his head but there was no fear in his eyes. Only understanding.

“It’s the place after,” he said. “After the pain. After the trials. After the choice.”

They walked together, the mist parting around them like memory peeling away. Every step forward shed another layer - of grief, of guilt, of unspoken things. Not erased. Just… acknowledged. Finally seen.

At the center of the field stood a single object: a door.

Not ornate. Not glowing. Just wood. Worn smooth, like it had been touched a thousand times by people uncertain whether to open it.

A question was carved into its frame:

“Do you still choose each other, knowing everything?”

They stopped before it.

Levi reached out but didn’t turn the handle yet.

Instead, he looked at Hange.

She was watching him like she always had - patient, searching, a little tired but still burning with all that chaotic hope.

“I don’t know what’s on the other side,” he said.

“Neither do I,” she answered.

A pause.

“But if it means we walk through it together,” she added, “I don’t care.”

His throat tightened.

“Even if it’s the end?”

She smiled softly. “Then it’s an end we write together.”

He took her hand again. He’d never stop taking it, now that he finally could.

And they turned the handle together.

The door opened.

There was no blinding light.

No heavenly choir.

Just the soft sound of wind through leaves. The smell of earth after rain. A warm breeze.

And ahead a - a small, quiet home.

Their home.

Not the one they’d dreamed of. Not one stolen from a better life. But one they could build, from here, from now.

Levi blinked.

Hange squeezed his hand.

He looked at her and saw no mirror, no flicker, no boundary.

Only her.

Alive. Real. With him.

He breathed in.

And this time, the air didn’t ache.

They stepped into that home together.

And behind them, the Unrooted folded in on itself, no longer needed.

Because the journey was never about returning to what had been.

It was about choosing each other - again and again - until the world finally listened.

And gave them a beginning.

Not a dream.

Not a memory.

A life.

Levi stirred in his sleep, as if waking from a long, endless dream - one that had stretched across lifetimes. It felt like he’d been drifting in darkness, untethered, chained to memories and guilt and everything he never dared to say out loud. For so long, he had carried the weight of silence. Vulnerability had always felt like a risk too costly to take.

But something had changed.

The air was warmer now. The silence softer.

And beside him - warmth.

He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the gentle light spilling in from the window. The world wasn’t strange or surreal this time. The ache in his chest had dulled into something quieter.

Then he felt it.

Fingers brushing lightly against his.

And when he opened his eyes  - 

There she was.

Hange.

Lying beside him, her body facing him under the covers. Her hair was a soft mess against the pillow, cascading down like she’d been here all night. Her eyes were open, watching him with a mix of wonder and disbelief. Like she’d been afraid to breathe until he did.

For a long moment, neither of them said a word.

She looked like she’d cried but she was smiling now - crookedly, gently. That same exhausted, tender smile that had once made him forget how broken the world was.

His breath caught. “Hange…”

She exhaled shakily. “You’re awake.”

His hand moved instinctively, reaching for hers beneath the sheets.

She met him halfway.

Their fingers laced together, slow and careful, as if both of them were still making sure this wasn’t another dream.

Levi’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard, as if trying to push down the swell of emotion rising too fast, too sharp. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.

“Wait… is this real?”

His eyes searched hers like he was trying to memorize every detail - the curve of her lashes, the freckles under her eyes, the way her lips trembled just slightly.

“Are you… really here?”

Hange’s fingers squeezed his gently. A tear slipped free and disappeared into the pillow between them.

“I’m here,” she said, not blinking. “You found me.”

Levi didn’t care about the Unrooted anymore. The trials. The mirror. The pain he’d carved his way through. Whether this was a dream or a reward or the beginning of something impossible - none of it mattered.

All he cared about was her.

His Hange Zoe.

A quiet breath escaped him - half relief, half disbelief and then he moved. No hesitation. No words.

He pulled her into a tight hug, arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go. She let out a soft gasp against his shoulder but melted into him just as quickly, her hands gripping the back of his shirt like she needed to anchor herself too.

Her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck. He felt the warm, uneven hitch of her breathing. Felt the way her fingers trembled.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, like it was the only thing he needed confirmed.

She nodded into his chest. “So are you.”

Silence settled, heavy but full. Like everything they hadn’t been able to say had already been said in that one breathless moment.

He tightened his grip just a little more. “You’re not going anywhere again.”

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, but steady. “Not unless you do.”

“I won’t,” he said, voice rough with quiet conviction. “Never.”

He pulled her in again - closer this time, as if trying to memorize the shape of her in his arms. The way her body fit against his, the way her breath hitched when he whispered her name under his breath like a prayer.

She didn’t speak, only curled further into him, one hand sliding up to rest over his heart. His own fingers moved to the back of her head, cradling it gently, pressing his forehead against hers as if anchoring himself to reality.

After a beat of time, Levi asked “Where are we actually?”

“We’re in our old house. The one with the mirror.”

“But I was… I thought…” He frowned, memory catching up to him in shards. “I was with someone. Erwin. He said -”

“The moment you passed the final trial,” she said gently, “it brought you back. To the place where it all began. To where I was waiting.”

His gaze flickered across her face - tired, radiant, a little puffy around the eyes but undeniably her. No glow. No flicker. No glass between them.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“You almost did,” she whispered. “But you found me. You chose me.”

Silence settled in again. Not heavy this time. Not like before.

“I thought I’d never hear your voice again,” he said.

“I kept whispering anyway,” she replied, her hand rising to cradle his cheek. “Even when you weren’t listening.”

He closed his eyes.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself lean in.

Their noses brushed - tentative, searching.

Then, their lips met.

Soft. Unsure. Like a question neither of them knew how to ask aloud.

Levi froze for the briefest second, heart hammering against his ribs, not out of hesitation but awe. She was here. Warm. Real. Her breath ghosted over his skin like a memory came home. Hange’s lips parted slightly and he pressed in - not with urgency but with reverence. The kind of kiss that didn’t need explanation.

The kind that said:

I’m here. I stayed. I remember.

Hange’s fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, gripping like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. He kissed her again - deeper this time, like he could pour everything he had never said into the space between them. The weight of time, grief, hope. Every moment he’d held back. Every time he’d looked at her through a mirror and couldn’t reach.

And when they finally broke for air, foreheads resting together, their breaths mingled - shaky and warm, alive in the quiet that followed. Hange’s breath quivered against his cheek, her chest rising and falling like she still wasn’t sure this was real.

But Levi didn’t pull away.

He looked at her - really looked at her. Every inch of her face was familiar and yet somehow new. The curve of her lashes, the glint of tears in her eyes, the way her mouth trembled just slightly, caught between relief and awe.

“I love you,” he said, quietly - deliberately. Like the words had been buried beneath years of silence, finally breaking through the surface. There was no hesitation, no mask left to hide behind. Only truth.

“I love you, Hange.”

He kissed her again - softer this time, slower. Letting the words sink in.

“Always.”

And he kissed her again.

Hange’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face like lightning - swift and vulnerable. Then slowly, slowly… they softened. The tension in her brow eased. Her lips parted, not for words but a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Something deep within her cracked open like a door finally unlocked.

Like she had finally been seen. All of her.

“You took long enough,” she whispered, a shaky laugh threading through her tears. She tried to blink them away, but they slipped down her cheeks anyway - quiet streaks of joy and pain, loss and finding.

He reached up, brushing one of them away with his thumb. And then he kissed her again.

And again.

As if the years between them didn’t matter.

As if each kiss could rewrite the moments he had turned away.

Each kiss a thread pulling her back to him.

Each one saying:

I see you.

I’m sorry.

I’m yours.

He kissed her like a man who’d forgotten how and suddenly remembered everything.

And she kissed him back like someone who never stopped waiting.