Another Ackerman - Ayanokoji x Snk

1

Sand...

Night....

A deep, dark sky stretches above me, but it is not the typical void of emptiness. There is something more. An ethereal glow pierces through it, an aurora borealis dancing across the firmament in vibrant colors, shifting and merging in an unpredictable pattern.

Beneath me, the sand is strangely cold, like polished marble. Its texture is fine and perfect, without impurities or irregularities. A white, gleaming surface that reflects the aurora's light, as if each grain of sand were a tiny mirror.

White walls.

They blend between my memories and reality, almost as if they represent the same thing as this place, as if this space had no real boundaries. Everything here seems designed to confuse the perception of time and distance. Each blink could last a second or an eternity.

My mind, sharp by nature, works calmly. I do not rush. I observe. I analyze.

Then, I notice a presence.

Golden hair.

Someone is kneeling beside me, their small figure leaning over my chest. Their hands, delicate and slender, gather handfuls of sand and scatter them over me, as if performing a ritual.

Strangely, I feel nothing.

"Who are you?" My voice comes out unusually warm, something uncharacteristic of me. The question is clear, direct, but I receive no answer.

She does not look at me.

She continues her task, completely ignoring me. Her head is bowed, her eyes hidden beneath golden strands, and her demeanor is... submissive.

I do not want to jump to conclusions, but the possibilities begin to align. Could it be that someone from the White Room has drugged me with some experimental compound? They know I am immune to most conventional drugs. If they resorted to something new, it would explain the sense of disconnection in my body.

But something even more unsettling remains.

I do not remember.

This is the first time it has ever happened. My memory is perfect, yet there is a gap.

What is the last thing I remember?

Sakayanagi... our farewell.

Leaving Horikita's class.

Ichinose...

Then, nothing.

Everything cuts off the moment I was returning from class.

That is when I realize what truly disturbs me.

I do not feel my heart beating in my chest.

This is not mere numbness. There is no rhythm, no pressure. Nothing. As if my body were nothing more than an empty shell.

Curious.

I have never been one to worry about what comes after death. I was never interested in religious beliefs—not because I despised them, but simply because I did not care.

If there is nothing after death, I would accept it without issue.

If there is something else, I would simply face it when the time comes.

But...

A child?

A god?

No, she does not seem like one.

The little I can perceive of her is not omniscience nor divinity. What she emanates is something different: resentment and absolute submission.

Her presence reminds me of someone.

Kei.

Not in appearance, but in attitude. In that hidden despair buried deep within her being, that invisible mark only carried by those who have experienced absolute desperation.

A parasite.

A slave?

My gaze hardens.

I do not know how much time passes before she finally stands up. With her small, empty bucket in her hands, she starts walking in no particular direction.

My eyes follow her slowly as a faint sensation returns to my chest, like the echo of something that should be there but is not quite real. Instinctively, I rise to my feet.

Minutes, hours, days, years. Time flows in an uncertain stream, diluted into this infinite nothingness as I walk beside her. Not a single word is exchanged between us. Only the sound of her footsteps in the sand and the occasional rustling of tiny grains slipping between her fingers when, at some point, she bends down to fill her bucket with water.

And then, in a moment within the endless void... everything changes.

The desert transforms. The sand, once infinite and monotonous, solidifies and rises into titanic shapes, as if they had always been there, waiting to be seen.

The barren wasteland becomes a colossal museum.

Giants.

Thousands, perhaps millions, of figures sculpted with terrifying precision. Each with distinct features, a unique expression. As if they were real people, frozen in marble, trapped in an unchanging existence.

She keeps walking, with the same quiet determination. She approaches one of the sculptures—a bearded colossus with long hair and pointed ears. His expression is serene, almost wise, yet there is something unsettling in his sculpted gaze, as if he holds knowledge that should not exist.

With absolute patience, the girl climbs up to his face. She dips her small hand into the bucket and, with delicate precision, begins molding the final details of the giant's face, perfecting every crack, every wrinkle, every curve with the meticulousness of someone who has repeated this process an uncountable number of times.

My mind clouds as I watch.

The work is slow and exhausting, making the sheer quantity of these statues all the more terrifying. Thousands. Tens of thousands. A sea of motionless figures, each captured in an eternal moment.

I remain silent, observing her. Patient.

Finally, when she finishes, she descends from the sculpture with the same indifference she had when she began. She passes by me without so much as a glance and resumes her walk, seeking more water.

That persistence unsettles me.

Before she can get too far, I extend a hand and firmly but gently grasp her arm.

She stops.

"...Why do you do this...?" My voice comes out quieter than expected. "Whose slave are you...?"

"..."

She remains motionless, her face still hidden beneath her golden hair. She makes no effort to resist or pull away. It is as if my question holds no meaning to her.

My vision distorts once more.

The sand dissolves beneath my feet.

The museum collapses in on itself, carried away by an invisible wind until nothing remains but a vast, immaculate white floor. An absolute void.

The walls close in.

And the girl... is no longer a girl.

Where once stood a slave of despair, now I see a perfectly ordinary boy.

One who once sobbed in a cold, windowless room, waiting for someone to come.

One who, over time, realized no one ever would.

One who stopped crying.

One who learned to adapt.

One who left behind everything unnecessary.

You are wrong. We are nothing alike.

I would never be anyone's slave.

I have always had a clear mind, thinking only of myself.

Winning, no matter the cost or who stands in my way.

When my mind stabilizes again, she slips free from my grasp but remains in front of me, simply staring until, at last, she speaks.

"Ymir..."

 2 

"Kiyotaka...?"

I hear a cold voice from behind, one I recognize easily.

"Annie."

I acknowledge her presence, but I don't take my eyes off the sky.

The deep blue stretches endlessly above us, with wisps of clouds drifting lazily across the horizon. In this moment, with the breeze brushing against my face, I can almost forget the existence of the walls.

She steps a little closer, her tone as dry and sharp as always.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mmm?" I let out a thoughtful sound before answering with my usual calm. "I simply found this place and thought it was nice to rest here."

Her brow furrows slightly, a subtle sign of irritation.

"Well, this is my spot, so find another one."

I remain silent.

My gaze stays fixed on the sky, unmoving, not bothering to respond immediately.

In the end, without even turning to look at her, I let my words slip into the air with calculated softness.

"Annie, do you know why I'm so strong that you can't beat me?"

Her expression hardens. She seems torn between ignoring me or responding with a sharp remark, but she stays silent, waiting.

Interesting.

I take advantage of the pause and continue, my tone unchanging.

"The man who raised me forced me to undergo brutal training for his own goals... He made me ignore my own interests and ruined my entire childhood."

I release the words with a lightness that contrasts with their weight.

And just as I expected, I see the change in her face.

Her eyes widen slightly, her rigid posture wavers. Vulnerability.

So, I was right.

"Y-You too..." Her voice is barely a whisper.

Finally, I tear my gaze away from the sky and fix it on her face. My expression is cold, my eyes hardened.

"So don't try to compare yourself to me."

She reacts, but I continue before she can say anything.

"A person who doesn't understand what it means to be used by someone else could never—"

"NO!"

She interrupts me with an outburst of anger.

But there's something else there.

Her voice isn't just rage...

It's anger mixed with something deeper. Something rawer.

Empathy.

Her breathing is unsteady. Her fists, clenched tightly at her sides, tremble slightly.

Her reaction is interesting.

I watch her in silence, evaluating. Her body is tense, her eyes filled with restrained emotion. The anger is still there, but it's more than that.

"No?" I repeat indifferently, observing how she grits her teeth.

"No..." Her voice is lower now, but no less firm.

Her gaze is like the edge of a blade as she meets mine directly.

"Do you think you're the only one?" she asks, her voice filled with resentment, but also something deeper, something that seems to have been buried for a long time.

I don't respond. I just wait.

She takes a step toward me, her posture tense.

"Since I was a child, I was trained relentlessly. I was beaten, forced to fight, molded into a weapon." Her words are harsh, each one carrying real weight. "I couldn't fail. I couldn't hesitate. Because if I did... all that 'training' would have been for nothing."

She pauses, her breathing barely controlled.

"I'm not like you, Kiyotaka," she says, her eyes shining with an unknown intensity. "But don't tell me I don't understand what it means."

Her confession doesn't surprise me, but the way she says it, the way she feels it... that is what's interesting.

In a way, I understand her more than I expected.

"I see..." I murmur, and my expression softens slightly. "Maybe I'm not the only one..."

She looks at me in silence, as if I've caught her off guard.

For a moment, her expression changes. Something inside her falters.

But in the end, her face hardens again.

"It's not worth wasting time talking," she says coldly, turning away.

She takes a few steps before stopping.

Then, without another word, she continues walking until she disappears from my sight.

I remain there, as calm as ever, watching the sky.

The wind blows softly, stirring the dust on the ground.

My mind processes the conversation—every word, every pause, every change in her expression.

Annie Leonhart...

A spy...

A Titan shifter...

An enemy...

VOTE + FOLLOW + COMMENT

Two short chapters in one. I originally planned to show Ymir's part during the return to Shiganshina, but I thought it would be better to introduce it earlier and maybe expand on it later.

From here on, the story will diverge from the manga, so chapters won't be daily anymore (i think..? could be daily if I feel good idk) 

Love you all, BYEEE!!!