Attack on Titans: Titans Edge

The introduction of the Omni-Directional Mobility (ODM) gear wasn't just a shift in our training—it felt like a glimpse into the future we were all hurtling toward. From the moment I strapped into the harness, I knew this would be the foundation of everything that lay ahead. But ODM gear wasn't just about movement; it was about survival.

One of the first things we were taught after the ODM gear was introduced was the weapon it complemented: the dual blades. Ultra-hard steel, sharp enough to cleave through Titan flesh, yet fragile in prolonged use. They weren't tools you sharpened or repaired. They were designed to be discarded and replaced.

Instructor Shadis drilled the importance of a clean strike to the nape of a Titan into us. "One precise cut is all it takes. Anything less, and you'll be Titan food."

The blades felt natural in my hands, almost like an extension of myself. Maybe it was the years of training, or maybe something else. Either way, I didn't dwell on it. Mastery wasn't optional—it was a necessity.

Time blurred as training intensified. Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months. The physical conditioning became brutal: obstacle courses with swinging logs, high walls, and traps designed to knock us off balance.

Tactical exercises followed, with instructors forcing us to strategize under pressure. Sparring sessions turned into showcases of endurance, skill, and sometimes sheer willpower. Each drill served a purpose—to harden us, to make us soldiers.

By the second year, our training evolved further. We started simulated Titan-kill exercises, using wooden dummies with the painted nape. Each strike had to be perfect, or you'd hear Shadis roaring across the grounds.

Mikasa, as expected, excelled. She had a natural fluidity with the ODM gear and an almost clinical precision with the blades. Eren, as well had begun to improve. His determination wasn't just stubbornness—it was unshakable. I couldn't deny that, even if his methods grated on me.

Training wasn't without its lighter moments, though. I'll never forget Sasha stealing bread from the mess hall, only to get caught mid-bite. Watching her sprint laps around the grounds with the bread still in her mouth was a rare comedic reprieve.

Reiner and Bertolt were always together, a strange pair that complemented each other. Reiner, the motivator, often pushed struggling cadets to keep going, while Bertolt's quiet competence kept him just out of the spotlight.

Then there was Annie. She kept her distance from most of us, her icy demeanor matching the precision of her movements. Sparring against her was... painful. She didn't hold back, and neither did I so she'd learned to anticipate bruises whenever we paired up.

There were moments during training when something within me stirred, a feeling I couldn't quite name. It happened sporadically—a sparring match where my reaction time felt impossibly fast, or a tactical exercise where I seemed to predict the enemy's moves before they made them.

Once, during a mock battle, I dodged a swinging log before it even moved, as if I knew it was coming. No one else noticed, but I did. These moments were fleeting, subtle, but they left me uneasy.

I couldn't help but wonder if it was tied to my Ackerman bloodline. Mikasa didn't seem to experience the same thing, but then again, her focus was always more straightforward—protecting Eren and surviving the day.

As we entered our third year, everything shifted toward preparing for real combat. The exercises grew harsher. Simulated battles became our new reality. We were paired into teams, tasked with taking down larger and more complex targets.

One particular session stood out. Eren, as always, pushed himself too far. He took down his target, but his movements were wild, uncoordinated. He collapsed moments later, drawing Shadis's wrath. I wanted to step in, to tell him to pace himself, but I held back.

He needs to learn this on his own, I reminded myself. Eren's fire was his strength, but it was also his weakness. If I shielded him from every fall, he'd never grow.

As the days turned into weeks, the upcoming rankings announcement became the focus of conversation. I could hear Jean bragging about his chances of making the top ten, his voice carrying over the quiet hum of the evening campfire.

Eren, sitting across from him, shot back with a scoff. "Doesn't matter where I rank. I have already decided where I would go" His words hung in the air, a declaration as much as a challenge.

"And where would that be? " questioned Jean

Expecting some snide comments if he replied, Eren ket quite.

Jean just gave a " Hmph" and left it at that, not thinking much.

I sat on the outskirts of the group, listening but not engaging. My thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the past few years. I couldn't ignore the tension building among us, the rivalries, the bonds. These connections would shape what was to come, for better or worse.

"Cadets, line up!" Instructor Shadis's voice shattered the evening's calm like thunder.

We scrambled into formation, standing at attention as he approached, his eyes scanning the line. There was a weight in the air, a palpable anticipation.

"The time has come to assign your duties," Shadis announced his voice firm and commanding. "You've spent three grueling years preparing for this. Now, your assignments will test your readiness in the real world."

I kept my face neutral, though I could sense the shift in energy around me. This was it—the first real step toward what lay beyond training.