The system’s suggestion — anchor synchronization training — turned out to mean something stranger and more intimate than any drill Eren had trained for before.
"It’s not physical," Historia explained, watching the four of them gather in the quiet clearing she’d requested for the exercise. "Or not primarily. The ritual demands the anchors hold steady emotional and mental connection to the candidate for its full duration — sometimes twenty minutes, sometimes an hour, depending on how hard the Anchorless power resists binding. If your minds fracture apart under that strain, the whole ritual fails, and Ymir absorbs the shock alone."
"So we need to practice staying connected," Mikasa said. "Under pressure."
"Exactly. And the only reliable way my people ever found to test that is to actually put you under pressure while connected." Historia produced a small, carved stone from her satchel, its surface worn smooth by centuries of handling. "This channels a fraction of what the full ritual will demand. Small enough not to harm anyone. Large enough to show you exactly where your bond breaks, if it’s going to break at all."
[New mission detected: "Anchor Synchronization" — Objective: Achieve stable three-way connection with candidate under simulated ritual stress. Reward: +1 Ritual Stability projection per successful session.]
The first attempt lasted four seconds before Annie broke the connection entirely, gasping, stumbling backward with her hand pressed hard against her chest.
"What happened?" Eren asked, disoriented from the sudden severance.
"I felt—" Annie’s voice shook. "I felt her fear. Not my own. Hers. Every terrible thing she’s carried since the camps, all at once, and I couldn’t—" She stopped, jaw tight with frustration at her own reaction. "I broke it because I couldn’t stand feeling that much of what she’s survived without trying to fix it immediately."
Ymir, pale but steady, reached for her sister’s hand. "That’s not failure, Annie. That’s just what love does, apparently, when it’s forced through a channel this direct. You’ll adjust."
"Will I?"
"You have thirty days to." Ymir managed a small, tired smile. "I have faith in you."
The second session went marginally better — six seconds this time, Mikasa the one who broke it, her expression carrying a controlled fury she rarely let show.
"I saw the camp," she said, once she’d caught her breath. "Not details, just — the shape of it. What it felt like, being small and powerless and watched every hour of every day." Her hands were shaking. "I understand now why she chose the boar-fighting style she showed at Training Corps. She learned to hit first because hesitation always cost her more, back there."
Ymir looked away, something raw and exposed in her expression at having her private history read so directly by people she’d only known a handful of years.
"I’m sorry," Mikasa said quietly. "I know that wasn’t mine to see."
"It’s not about permission anymore, is it? Not if this is what the ritual actually requires." Ymir’s voice was steadier than her expression suggested. "I’d rather you understand what you’re anchoring, honestly, than walk into this blind. Even if it costs me some privacy I’d rather have kept."
By the fifth day, something began to shift — the connection holding longer, the flashes of Ymir’s memory and fear growing less overwhelming as all three anchors learned, slowly, how to receive without flinching, how to steady rather than absorb.
[Anchor Synchronization: Session 5 — Duration achieved: 47 seconds. Stability projection increased to 68%.]
"We’re improving," Armin noted, watching from the clearing’s edge with his ever-present notebook, though his usual enthusiasm had settled into something quieter, more careful, given the weight of what he was documenting. "Faster than the Aeldrin’s historical records suggest is typical, actually."
"Why?" Eren asked, still catching his breath from the session.
"Because you three already know how to hold onto each other under pressure. You’ve had two years of practice, in a much less controlled, much more brutal training ground than this clearing." Armin closed the notebook, something fond and tired in his expression. "I don’t think that’s a coincidence the system would call random, if we asked it."
That evening, exhausted from the day’s training, Eren found Mikasa sitting apart from the others, staring at her own hands with an expression he recognized as her processing something too large to voice immediately.
"You’ve been quiet," he said, settling beside her.
"I keep thinking about what I felt today. Not just Ymir’s fear — the shape of what she survived, and how much of it she’s carried alone, even surrounded by people who love her." Mikasa’s voice was low, thoughtful. "I understand something now I don’t think I fully understood before. Loving someone doesn’t mean knowing everything they’ve carried. Sometimes it just means being willing to finally feel the weight of it beside them, when they’re ready to let you."
He took her hand, quiet understanding settling between them. "Is that what this past year’s been, for us? You finally letting me feel some of what you carried, piece by piece, instead of holding it alone?"
"I think so." She looked at him, something soft and grateful in her tired expression. "I used to think strength meant carrying everything myself, quietly, so nobody else had to bear the weight of it. I don’t think that anymore. I think real strength is what Ymir’s doing right now — choosing to let three people close enough to actually feel what she’s survived, trusting that we’ll hold steady instead of flinching away."
He pulled her close, the day’s exhausting training settling into something more meaningful in light of her words. "Twenty-six days until the ritual window," he murmured. "We’ll be ready. All of us, together, the way this was always supposed to work."
[Anchor Synchronization progress: 68% stability. Target: 90%+ before ritual window. Recommend continued daily sessions.]
She kissed him softly, the mission’s quiet, patient countdown ticking on in the corner of his awareness, no longer a burden carried alone but a shared, deliberate climb toward something they intended, together, to survive.
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