Uncharted

The night air brushed his face slowly. He felt the fabric of the bandages wrapping tightly around almost his entire face, a dry, constant pressure that pulled at his skin every time he tried to breathe. Only his left eye was free, and there the breeze came in cool, caressing his aching skin.

Pain permeated his whole body. It rose from his bones, traveled down the nape of his neck, and throbbed behind his forehead, as if a bomb had exploded in his face and his body kept echoing the blast.

A sense of urgency gnawed at his insides, though he couldn’t pinpoint where it came from or why it was there. His mind was submerged in absolute chaos.

Even so, in the midst of it all, it soothed him to feel a presence by his side. Warm, tender, close—so familiar that he didn’t need to see her to know she was there, leaning against his side, holding him without holding him.

A woman’s voice, sweet yet low, murmured words he could barely make out, dissolved in the fever eating him alive. After the words, a brief silence, and then, her voice again...

—Maybe we should stay and live together right here in the forest. Don’t you think, Levi?

Something shrank in his chest. A physical contraction, as if his heart were folding in on itself.

Live together?

Wasn’t that what he had always wanted? To live with her. To be with her.

No more sacrifices.

No more titans.

No more enemies.

Just the two of them... together... until the end.

The answer caught in his chest.

Levi woke up drenched in cold sweat. Once again.

He opened his eyes in the dark, and the first thing he found was the ceiling: immaculate, white, ordinary. The ceiling of the house where he had lived the last twenty years of his life.

His chest heaved violently. His heart hammered incessantly against his ribs, his pulse racing, his breathing ragged. He sat up slowly, carefully, like someone who fears a sudden movement might summon back what has just left.

His mouth was dry.

The wind blew in through the half-open window. He had fallen asleep without closing it. He reached for the glass of water he always left on the nightstand and took a sip, as usual. The liquid slid down his throat, returning some stability to his body.

He checked his phone. It was half-past three in the morning. The screen burned his eyes for a second before he put it away.

He got up to close the window; the wood of the frame was damp and cold. Outside, the stars burned in a clear, moonless sky, just like the nights he saw in his dreams. He stood there for a moment, looking out at the familiar street, the near-total stillness of the early morning.

The tightness in his chest wouldn’t fade. It never faded quickly. Not when he dreamt of those images that had visited him in the dark for as long as he could remember. They always left a concrete weight, settled right behind his sternum, as if something had lain on top of him during the night and, upon waking, had left the imprint of its shape.

Outside, the city made its usual noise—a distant truck, the screech of the tram tearing through the silence of dawn, the rain that had started to fall at some point and now drummed against the glass with a fine, even insistence.

He walked to the kitchen, bare feet on the cold floor. He turned on the stove; the click of the igniter, the blue puff of gas catching fire, the sudden heat reaching the back of his hand. He stared at the flame for a moment without moving.

The wall clock read a quarter to four. He had plenty of time. The gym opened at six.

—Awake already? —his mother’s voice came softly from the doorway.

Levi turned to look at her. Kuchel’s silhouette was outlined against the gloom of the hallway, her hair long and loose, her shoulders wrapped in a robe.

—Good morning, Mom.

—Good morning, sweetheart, —she greeted with her usual sweetness, entering with that noiseless step he had known since childhood.

—Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up?

She let out a very quiet chuckle, barely an exhale through her nose.

—I could say the same. What brings you out here at this hour?

He sighed without answering. Steam was starting to make the kettle whistle.

—Did you have those dreams again? —she asked, lowering her voice even further, as if the volume itself might scare away what she was naming.

Levi nodded. Barely a shake of his head. She didn’t say anything for a while. Once, years ago, a psychologist they had consulted casually mentioned something about past life memories. Kuchel had been quick to dismiss the idea. Levi hadn’t thought about it again... or almost.

As a family, they had always wanted to stay away from any matter that exceeded the limits of rational understanding. They were believers, yes—in traditional religion, in a Supreme Being—but with enough reservations not to venture into territories for which no one had given them a map. Kuchel, above all, considered the idea of delving into regressions, hypnosis, and any kind of esoteric contact dangerous. It had simply never appealed to Levi.

—Do you think it’s necessary to seek help?

Levi shook his head slowly. He arranged two cups with tea leaves on the table.

—It isn’t threatening, —he said at last, his eyes on the flame. —It’s just... strange.

She nodded, though without conviction. Levi had been having these dreams since he was five: dreams that disturbed him and left a strange heaviness in his body upon waking. They had started out sporadically—years could go by without a single one—but in recent months they had become more frequent, sharper, and that had begun to worry her.

—If it keeps happening, maybe it would be wise to see what options we have.

Levi filled the cups with water. The mild aroma of freshly brewed tea perfumed the room.

—Maybe.

He offered one cup to his mother and brought the other to his lips.

At half-past five, he pushed open the gym door.

“Iron Corps” was strategically located in one of Mitras’s most elegant areas. It had been standing for twenty-five years and, little by little, had grown from a modest business into a fitness empire focused on high-profile individuals: top executives, elite athletes, models. Pure prestige distributed across five branches, the largest of which occupied three floors of its own building, also housing a swimming pool, sauna, cafeteria, private parking, and a sportswear boutique.

Kenny, the eldest of the Ackermanns, had built it from scratch since he and his younger sister Kuchel were practically teenagers, and both had participated equally in its development. He as the public face and mastermind behind the innovative techniques that, over time, made him a benchmark in the industry. She as the visionary mind that kept the daily operations running and growing.

Levi had been raised in a family that had gone from the lowest of the slums to a comfortable life through pure sweat and sleepless nights. He came from a tough, demanding environment, where you woke up early to work and went to sleep working, always with excellence and no excuses. The Ackermann family business had become synonymous with quality, with safety, with doing things right in an environment where results were seen in sculpted bodies and won competitions.

As Kuchel’s only son, Levi had grown up with the idea that one day he would inherit part of the business—in equal shares with his cousin Mikasa—and that it was his responsibility to maintain it and make it grow. When he reached university, he chose to study nutrition and specialize in sports physical activity. When he started practicing, Kenny was so thrilled that he set up a private consultation room for his nephew inside the headquarters.

That morning, when Levi walked in, the lights already on over the functional training area flooded the room. The smell of rubber and clean metal rose to his nose in an almost comforting way. He liked that cold scent he associated with the place where he spent most of his days. The dumbbells aligned on the rack, numbers facing out, pairs together. The cleaning staff was doing a good job.

Little by little, the other morning shift instructors arrived: Jean in HIIT cardio, Connie in spinning, Rainier in strength training.

That morning, the first group arrived on time, as always. Twelve people, different levels, the same circuit adapted to each one. Levi guided them without raising his voice—a gesture was enough, a pointing hand, a correction barely resting on someone’s shoulder to straighten their posture. At five to seven, the group filed out, and the next one was already waiting at the entrance, rubbing their hands against the morning cold.

The second group was larger and noisier. Levi ran high-intensity intervals for forty minutes, spending the last twenty on mobility and cool-down.

The third group started at eight. Petra Ral was the first to walk in, as she almost always was. Her reddish hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore new magenta sneakers she had debuted the week before, the clean rubber still squeaking against the floor. She greeted the others familiarly and took her usual spot on the right side of the area, where she had a direct line of sight to Levi for most of the circuit.

The session passed without incident. At five to nine, the group finished their cool-down and began to scatter, towels over their shoulders and bottles half-empty. Petra was the last to gather her things. She dragged out the motions—folding her towel slowly, screwing the cap on her bottle without rushing—as the others filtered out.

—Levi, —she said, with the casual tone of someone who has been looking for the right moment for a while. —I wanted to mention something about the nutritional plan. I think the changes are working, I feel more energetic in the mornings.

—Good, —he said, jotting something down on his tablet without looking up. The stylus scratched the screen with a sharp tapping. —How are the sleep issues going?

—Better, too. —She paused briefly. Shifted her weight from one foot to the other. —Hey, have you had breakfast yet? There’s a new cafe a few streets down that’s really nice, I thought we could...

—I don’t like coffee, —Levi said drily.

It wasn’t entirely true. But it was an answer that quietly closed the door. Petra looked at him for a moment, gauging if it was worth insisting. She decided it wasn’t. At least for today.

—Alright. See you tomorrow, then.

Levi glanced up for a second. Her towel was clutched tightly in her fingers.

—See you tomorrow.

He watched her leave. Put his tablet away. Went to change. Walked out onto the street. The asphalt was still wet from the dawn rain, and the air smelled of turned earth, of that clean freshness water leaves on stone.

At ten past nine, he crossed to the back of the building to the shop where his mother enjoyed spending most of her time: a store for fitness products, supplements, functional foods, and specialized books—recipes for celiacs, guides for diabetics, sports nutrition manuals—combined with a small cafe where everything served had a purpose beyond just flavor.

Pushing the door open, he was met by the usual smell: the aroma of freshly brewed tea and a strong fragrance of vanilla, that particular scent he associated with the protein shakes and oat bars his mother made. The warmth of the shop brushed his face.

The space was called Iron Wellness, and it was, in essence, the natural extension of everything the siblings had built at the gym translated into the everyday world. Kuchel had opened it five years ago. It had done better than either of them expected.

The dark-haired woman looked up from the counter and smiled.

—You’re early today.

—I didn’t have any patients scheduled this time. —He hung his jacket on the corner coat rack and went to wash his hands in the sink behind the counter. —How’s everything here?

—Good, —Kuchel said. —Shall I serve your breakfast? Furlan made some chicken and avocado wraps this morning that turned out really well. The turkey ones will be ready in about fifteen minutes.

—Chicken is perfect, —Levi said, settling into his usual corner. The chair creaked beneath him, familiar, worn in the spot where he always rested his weight.

Kuchel called Isabel, who was finishing wiping down a table, and motioned for her to man the register in her stead. The young girl nodded and stepped behind the machine while her boss settled in for her daily morning ritual with her son. Kuchel liked having breakfast with Levi whenever she could, and even though him stopping by after classes was relatively common, she never took it for granted.

Levi stayed for an hour. They talked about trivial things. He greeted Furlan when he came out of the kitchen with the wraps, his hands still speckled with a sheen of oil, and then helped put away some new orders that had arrived that morning: protein powder, chia seeds, three boxes of date bars a new supplier had sent for customers to try. He walked over to the computer to skip a song that felt unnecessarily loud, and before leaving, he grabbed the cup his mother had left for him on the counter—green tea with ginger, as always.

The clock struck eleven in the morning.

—I’m going to the supermarket to check on a few things. Do you need me to drop anything off before I head back to work? —Levi inquired.

—No, sweetheart. We’re fine here. Take your time.

Levi gave his mother a kiss on the forehead, catching the familiar scent of her hair, grabbed his jacket, and left.

He was walking with his hands in his pockets down the sidewalk he knew by heart when something inside him jolted.

A woman around his age, wearing glasses, her brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail, appeared in his field of vision. She blended into the people walking down the street, holding a thermal paper cup in her hand.

He felt a tug. Unmistakable, though impossible to pinpoint: an imprecise area of his body that tensed on its own. A different weight in the air. A shift in temperature that didn’t come from the wind.

That face...

The shock paralyzed him, stopping him dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

She kept walking, but it was as if Levi’s eyes drew her in inevitably. She tilted her head for a second, and their eyes met.

Her gaze was the color of amaretto. It shone warm, tender, familiar.

For an instant, Levi saw her lips part slightly, a mirror to his own shock. She stopped mere inches away from him.

A hurried pedestrian bumped into the young woman roughly as he passed.

The coffee spilled onto the ground, the dark stain spreading slowly over the glossy gray of the pavement.

He reacted on instinct: a hand closed over her arm before she could lose her balance. She ended up with her palm resting against his chest, her feet planted, her glasses skewed from the stumble.

He saw her up close. Her eyes were beautiful, dark, intensely alive. She wore a dark gray suit with vertical white pinstripes that made her look even taller and more slender than she already was.

—I’m sorry, —she said, straightening her glasses with the back of her wrist. —I wasn’t looking where I was going.

Levi didn’t answer right away.

That voice.

The gray of his eyes fell over her with an intensity that made her shiver without knowing why. She felt a brief chill run up her nape; blood rushed to her cheeks and painted her face pink.

It can’t be...

There was something in the man’s expression she couldn’t decipher. The way he kept holding her by the arm—without having decided to, his fingers closed over the fabric with no order to let go—gave her a strange sensation. Indefinable, near and distant at the same time. Like when you hear a song you don’t remember learning, and yet you know it by heart.

And he was looking at her as if he were hearing the exact same song.

—You’re... Levi? —she said, suddenly.

The name slipped out before she could make sense of it, with the naturalness of something known forever. And the moment she heard it suspended in the air between them, it sounded impossible. She didn’t know this man. She, who had a photographic memory, was absolutely certain there was no way she could know him.

He went very still. The hand on her arm tightened a fraction more before loosening.

—How do you know my name? —he asked, in a low, careful voice, like someone afraid of scaring away what stands before him.

She hesitated before answering.

—I don’t know, —she finally said.

And it was the truth. She didn’t know. The answer baffled her as much as it did him, because Hange Zoë was a person who had an explanation for everything, and this time, she had none.

—Do we know each other? —She said it almost to herself. —I feel like... —But she didn’t finish. There was no way to finish that sentence without sounding insane.

He didn’t help her finish it either. He kept looking at her with that gray intensity she felt reaching the very bottom of her soul, scrutinizing her features as if comparing what he saw to an image stored somewhere deep.

—No, —he said at last, slowly, without conviction, like someone answering one thing while thinking another. —We don’t know each other.

He let go of her arm. Finger by finger, like someone letting go of something they’re not quite sure they want to release.

The noise of the street folded back around them, suddenly distant, as if the air between them had grown denser. Neither of them moved. She was the one who had to leave—she knew it, she felt it in the watch weighing on her wrist, in the entire life waiting for her in the building across the street—and yet her feet refused to obey.

He cast his eyes down at the empty cup on the ground, as if only then remembering how the two of them had wound up in this situation.

—I’ll replace it for you, —he finally said, picking up the cup. —The coffee. Or tea, if you prefer.

It was the closest thing to an invitation he knew how to make. She considered it; for a split second she was about to say yes: that she had five minutes, that work could wait. Something in her chest pulled her toward this man with an insistence she couldn’t comprehend, and precisely because she couldn’t comprehend it, it scared her.

—I’d love to, —she said quickly. —But I have to get back.

She delicately slipped the empty cup from his hand, lightly brushing his fingers as she did so; his touch felt warm and soft.

—Thank you, anyway.

He nodded. He didn’t push it, though something in his stillness suggested he wanted to. She held his gaze for a second longer, then smiled in a way that struck him as familiar, and walked away down the sidewalk with the same quick pace as before.

He stood perfectly still, his chest tight in a new way, watching her leave with the phantom imprint of that hand still throbbing over his sternum.

The elevator took longer than usual. Or maybe it was just her measuring time unreliably. She stared at the numbers climbing on the screen without truly seeing them. She still held the empty cup in her hand because she’d forgotten to throw it away in the lobby trash can. She squeezed it without realizing; the paper yielded under her fingers with a faint crackle.

That face.

She had seen it before. She was certain. But she didn’t know where. The sensation was like when you try to hold onto a dream that dissolves the exact moment you open your eyes. There was something there. Something that refused to take shape, yet weighed on her chest as if she had known him all her life.

The doors opened on the fourteenth floor with the soft chime of the electronic bell.

Zeke looked up from his desk when she walked past his office. She decided to cross the threshold the moment she noticed him standing up.

—Hange, where were you?

—I went to get something to drink, —she held up the empty cup as evidence. —But I had a mishap.

He frowned slightly, more out of curiosity than reproach.

—Didn’t you like the new brand I brought?

—It’s not that, I just ran out of almond milk, so I went to the cafe across the street.

Zeke processed her words for a moment.

—I’ll tell Moses to get you some supplies, there’s a supermarket nearby. Can you remind me which brand you usually buy? For some reason I always forget...

—Zeke... it’s not necessary, really.

—Of course it is, —he handed her a pen and a sticky note. —Write it down here.

—I’m not going to ask you to fetch special things just for me, —she said, with a hint of embarrassment in her voice. —There are already enough people here watching everything I do or don’t do. I don’t need them whispering that you’re giving me special treatment just for being your girlfriend.

He looked at her with an expression of affection and calm exasperation.

—Hange. You are the director of research and also one of the founding partners of this agency. You will always receive special treatment, not because you’re my girlfriend, but because this business is yours too. Almond milk is a minor consequence of that. Write it down.

She looked at him. Smiled, though the gesture cost her a little more effort than usual because underneath it all, something still hadn’t settled: a blurred image that persisted like the spot of light left behind after staring directly at the sun.

—Alright, —she said, taking the still-outstretched pen.

Zeke nodded, satisfied, and when she handed him the sticky note with the name, he returned to his office with the same calm as when he had emerged. The silence of the hallway closed in behind him.

Hange stood there for a moment, empty cup in hand, as the usual noise of the fourteenth floor resumed its volume around her—the clatter of keyboards, a printer, a distant conversation. But everything reached her muffled, as if underwater.

That voice.

She had heard it before. She was certain.

Mikasa arrived at the gym at a quarter to two, backpack slung over her shoulder and the tired expression of someone who has just survived five hours of theoretical classes and needs to move. She walked in, bringing the street cold clinging to her clothes. Levi was at the counter when he saw her enter. Gunther was in his usual spot, logging a new client’s data into the computer.

—How was the day? —she said, shoving her backpack into the locker. The metallic slam of the door shutting echoed amid the thump of electronic music.

—Fine, —he said, though his voice carried a different tone, uncharacteristic of his usual brevity.

Levi’s eyes were on his tablet, but he wasn’t writing anything. The stylus rested quietly between his fingers. Mikasa shot him a brief, loaded look, the kind that doesn’t need to linger to say what it has to say.

—You sure?

—Yeah.

She didn’t push it. She knew him well enough to know that when he answered in monosyllables, it meant something had happened and he had decided not to tell. She quietly took her place behind the counter and started checking the afternoon shift schedule, flipping the pages with her index finger.

Levi gathered his things and paused for a second at the glass door before leaving, without turning all the way around.

—What time is Sasha’s shift tomorrow?

—Seven and eight in the morning. Dance and HIIT cardio.

—Can you ask her to cover my six o’clock shift?

—Yeah, of course. Let me call her and confirm. If she can’t, maybe Ymir is available, I put her on the afternoon shift this week.

A ring, a couple of quick sentences.

—Done, —the dark-haired girl said as soon as she hung up. —She said you owe her breakfast.

Levi offered a gesture resembling a smile.

—Thanks.

He walked out. The automatic door slid shut behind him with its usual silence. The young woman looked up and stared at the empty hallway, where the air still held a trace of him.

Outside, the cold had dropped. Levi walked with his hands in his pockets to the parking lot. He got into his gray sedan. He took the same long road as always.

He was tired, tired like he seldom was. He had been on his feet since three-thirty, but this time his shoulders felt heavy in a way that defied ordinary exhaustion, as if they were carrying a weight that wasn’t muscle.

He got home when the sun had already fully set. On his phone, a message from his mother. She would be out with a friend until late. No need to wait up; there was food ready to heat up in the fridge and a bowl of Caesar salad on the side.

He ate standing in front of the counter, without sitting down, without turning on the TV. He washed the dishes quickly. Turned out the lights.

That night, Levi took a long time to fall asleep.

He recognized the voice. The gaze. The color of those eyes that had looked at him with that blend of bewilderment and familiarity, putting his entire life under question. He still felt it on his skin: the weight of her hand on his chest, the warm phantom print that refused to cool.

Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling. The same white ceiling. The same stillness.

He had spent his life dreaming of a face without a name and without a place. Today, that face had walked toward him down a random sidewalk, called him by his name, and left without leaving hers.

He didn’t know how to find her. He didn’t even know if he should.

But she knew who he was. And for the first time in his nearly thirty years of life, Levi wasn’t sure that his dreams were just dreams.