Fucking Winchesters, Eren swore to himself.He seethed as he made his way towards the exit. His frustration was palpable, like a cloud hovering over him. They played the clips of his fight with Daniel and the hall had suddenly become too small, too devoid of air. He knew what they were doing. They were trying to make him seem unhinged, wild. The kind of person no one would want to touch. The kind of person sponsors would not want to be associated with.Of all the things the Clans considered important, their reputations were paramount. Their reputations made and broke them. Their reputations could be compared to fabric—white, sterile fabric—easy to sully, and William had just made Eren out to be a tree heavy with pomegranates, messy, ripe to bursting.They played the clips and it was as though there was not enough oxygen in the world, as though staying there another minute would

Eren heaved his suitcase up the narrow staircase. The building was ancient, its stone walls weathered. He paused at the top landing, catching his breath and glanced down the hallway to find his room number etched in shiny brass on a glossy wooden door. This was to be his room. After the banquet, The Ten were to move into their quarters at the Academy—a single building meant to house them all, Saints and Terrors alike. Eren made the trip back to Silas’s house that night to gather what personal effects he could. He did not own much to begin with, which, admittedly, made things easier, but which also made him sad. Following his mother’s death, Eren was moved around a lot. He made himself unlearn the notion of ownership. It was too painful feeling like he finally belonged to a place, finally owned something, only to be ripped away and sent to a new home. The professor found him in his room that morning, stuffing his bag full of shirts from the wardrobe. Even though the doo

Sleep came slowly for Eren, and, when it did come, it was fitful. He spent half the night tossing and turning in his new bed. It was dawn before he fell asleep. Too soon, the sun rose and blindingly, bright light tore through the drapes. Eren’s eyes snapped open. His clock read 7: 45 in red, digital figures. Eren struggled out of bed and got into the shower. It was the first day of class and he was late. Tardiness was not the best, first impression. He hurried into his clothes and down the stairs, only to find Sid waiting for him at the bottom of the stairway in the shared living room. While the Saints and Terrors rooms were split, they shared a living room and the dining area. “Morning, sleepyhead.” Sid said, handing him a Styrofoam cup. Eren sniffed the contents of the cup suspiciously. The liquid was warm against the thin material. “What is this?” “What the hell do you think? Coffee.” “With you, there are so many things I can imagine.” Eren slurped the liquid

The second day was even more grueling than the first. Diane Grandville was their instructor for the day and as usual, she looked the part. Her dark hair was gathered in a no-nonsense ponytail. She wore cargo pants, combat boots, and a tank top that showed off the sinew in her arms. She had a high forehead and hollow cheeks that made her look like an exotic cat. They were made to gather in a hall much like the sparring room. Eleven lecterns had been installed into the floor, each for one trainee and one of Diane. She began. “Today, we will learn the art of MANNA control. MANNA is, at the end of the day, what sets you apart from the average person. Controlling this gift is not a skill to be taken lightly, as it requires focus, discipline, and dedication.” As the lesson progressed, Diane showed them how to channel their MANNA. Her clan had the ability to control aspects of time, she told them. Due to the delicate nature of their ability an almost surgical control of MANNA is

Placements began a week after Eren's successful infiltration of Zachary’s place.The first grouping was carried out. Gaine and Drake were paired together. Eren found himself in the same group as Samantha and Sid. Anxiety was a hand around his thorax, throttling him.Eren’s team chose a minor guarding duty, categorized as a Grade 1 mission— a simple task. Their assignment was to patrol the perimeter of a small, yet crucial, outpost for a week. It was monotonous work, often tiresome, with long hours of standing watch.After a grueling week, the mission was complete. The trio returned, their spirits somewhat dampened. Each was awarded a silver star, a symbol of their completion of a Grade 1 mission. Eren looked at his star and the shimmering silver seemed to mock him. The Grade 1 missions, though manageable, were not yielding the rewards he had hoped for. He knew that for more substantial recognition and advancement, they needed to tackle Grade III missions, which promised three