Attack on Titan Fanfiction – On the Battleship: Chapter 1

Her Heritage

Read the introduction here. Or you can just go straight to the story below.

Mikasa stood on the deck of the ship, Kiyomi to her right. They stared in horror, watching helplessly as the titans destroyed the continent.

“Do you think we can make it?” she asked.

“We have to,” replied Kiyomi. “We must.”

The young woman shuddered. What if everything is destroyed? What if Hizuru is destroyed? What was it like anyway, this country her mother’s ancestors came from? 

Regretting the fact that she never really took an interest in what was on the other side of the ocean, she thought grimly of the fickleness of the human mind. 

Why was it that we took things for granted? Maybe someday I’ll visit Hizuru, she’s said to herself before. She didn’t know then that ‘someday’ really meant never. Why is it that we only realise the value of something when it is about to be taken away from us forever?

She felt she’d better learn what she can about her ancestors’ land, because what if Kiyomi dies? There’ll be no one left to ask. She glanced at her arm, the one tattooed with the kamon or family crest of the Azumabito clan.

“Mrs Kiyomi, please tell me all about my mother’s ancestral home,” she said.

“It is autumn there at this time of the year. When fall arrives, the leaves turn not just into gold, but a brilliant red. Maple leaves, called momiji, turn swathes of forest and parks all across the country into a vivid vermillion color.”

Kiyomi told Mikasa of the four seasons in the Land of the Rising Sun, how each of them is clearly delineated, and special festivals are held to celebrate the arrival of each season. 

She told her of the rites and rituals involved in everything from harvest to marriage to ancestral worship. She spoke of a doll festival for girls called hinamatsuri, of a purification festival in the ancient capital called gionmatsuri, where floats decorated with tapestries and life-sized figures parade the street. There was an annual summer festival across the country called obon, when people from the cities went back to their hometowns and paid their respects to the souls of dead ancestors. She told of children tying paper wishes to bamboo branches during the tanabata or star festival. 

She spoke of the sublime cuisine there, of the food that was unlike any other in the world.

“Rice, called kome, is central to our food culture. There’s a liquor we enjoy called sake. It’s not like wine or beer, as it’s made of rice. We also have a food called sushi, made of raw fish and rice.”

“Raw fish?”

“Yes, when properly prepared it is very delicious. We dip it in a soybean sauce called shoyu, and add grated horseradish for zest, called wasabi.

Kiyomi told Mikasa of her lineage, of the line of great daimyo or powerful feudal lords from whom her mother descended from. She spoke of their clan rising to form the shogunate, the glorious unifier of the warring clans under whose banners served thousands of samurai. 

When the shogunate was abolished, the Azumabitos went on to hold powerful positions in government and influential roles in society. The Emperor was the symbolic ruler, but it was her clan that effectively ran the country. All of this happened during Hizuru’s rapid modernization after a long period of isolation. 

“Our countries have more in common than one might think,” the older woman summarised.

Mikasa listened with rapt attention. “I’ve always dreamt that, when all of this is over, I could go and visit there, see my mother’s relatives…”

“You would be most welcome. We will be delighted to have you.”

“Won’t they be suspicious of me because I’m half-Eldian?”

“There are some conservative members of the clan who might find you strange and shun you, but our family, like Hizuruan society as a whole, is rapidly changing, becoming more accepting of diversity.”

With the clouds of destruction turning the sky a sickening shade of grey, Mikasa’s memories travel way back to when she was but an infant.

“My mother, she used to sing me a lullaby.”

“Do you remember any of it?”

“I remember every word, like she just sang it to me yesterday.”

“Sing for me, if you please.”

Mikasa’s voice was clear and melodious, but mellowed down to a baby blanket softness. She sang:

Where those tears in Kiyomi’s eyes? Or was it just the salty sting of the sea wind? 

“Do you know what it means?” she asked the young singer.

“Yes, Mum told me,” was the reply.

Dragonflies, as red as sunset
When was it I was carried on her back
Gathering mulberries on the mountain field
In a small basket; or was it just a dream

Big sis at fifteen went off to become a bride
Letters from home have ceased to arrive
A red dragonfly in the sunset
Resting on the tip of a bamboo pole

Kiyomi nodded. “There is a deeper meaning to those words. The songwriter himself saw his parents divorce when he was only five. So he wrote this song based on his own experiences, about a mother who left her child and went back to her hometown. The child’s father employs a young girl from the countryside to become the child’s nanny. This nanny is called nēya meaning big sis.”

“But this young girl eventually left to get married…and the child misses her, doesn’t he?” 

“Yes, he does. Letters no longer arrive, his big sis left him, he is lonesome.”

“I’ve always thought the letters from home meant letters from his big sis. But it could also mean letters from his mother, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I think it does. The song speaks of dragonflies and beautiful sunsets, a countryside scene. It speaks of a child feeling the warmth of his nanny as she works with a sling tied to her back, carrying him. He feels affection for her, misses her. And finally, it speaks about the loneliness and grief of no longer having his mother around to care for him. I think the mother eventually remarried and made a new family, and she stopped caring about the other child she left behind.”

Now both of them were crying. What was it about this children’s song about red dragonflies that made grownups cry?

Mikasa suddenly remembers the story of Frieda Reiss, which she heard from Historia. But Frieda left her little sister, not to become a bride, but because she got devoured by Grisha Jaeger.

She thought of her mother, of Eren, of Historia, of all the children in the world who’ve lost their mothers, either through murder, like hers and Eren’s, or sheer neglect, like Historia. It was her big sis Frieda who showed affection in her mother’s stead. Like that child in the song. 

It was all about the little children, wasn’t it? 

The reason she wanted to stop Eren was because of the little children. Children too small to know what was going on. Newborns who were blameless and spotless, carried in slings on the backs of their mothers or big sisters. It was for all these nameless, faceless babies that Mikasa wanted to talk Eren down.

She wipes the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. “I will do all I can, Mrs Kiyomi, to make Eren stop this madness.”

The older woman nodded, tried to encourage her. “We will reach him in time. I know we will. We must keep on hoping. The world only ends when we give up hope.” 

But everything was so bleak. Kiyomi herself felt the pain of her failure. She had been played by Zeke, and she underestimated the extent of Eren’s rage, the strength of his will, the intensity of his love for the island’s people. 

As a diplomat and businesswoman, she failed Hizuru in spectacular fashion. 

As a human being, she failed in caring about Paradis as a nation made up of humans who were allies. She’d only seen the country from a purely utilitarian perspective, with resources for her to plunder. Now her failures were coming back to haunt her. She was full of regrets. What had she done? 

But will regretting the past help them now? No, it didn’t. She looked at the girl next to her. So young, so beautiful, so much to offer. Mikasa Ackermann, half-Eldian, half-Hizuruan, could just be the last of the Azumabitos. Kiyomi feared that she herself will die soon, just like her peer Magat had died. All that would be left of them is Mikasa. 

She had to tell this young woman all she can about her heritage.

And so she talked. She told Mikasa of her nation, Hizuru, filled with people chock full of contradictions. 

They were bloodthirsty and warmongering at times, yet many of them were nonviolent and peaceful at heart. They have destroyed the lives of their enemies, but also built structures and crafts of the most astonishing beauty. They were a proud, deeply flawed people believing they are descendants of the gods, but sometimes could exhibit a genuine humility, a humbleness that was astounding in its depth. 

She spoke of a people that would do anything to become modern, and yet cling desperately to ancient traditions and norms. She spoke of a warrior class, of which the Azumabitos belong to; a merchant class with astute business acumen sealing deals all over the world; a craftsmen class creating with such breathtaking precision and attention to detail that the world stood in awe of the technical and artistic heights they were able to achieve. 

She spoke of how society was structured, of farmers and agriculture, of hierarchies and divisions, of mibun meaning status or social standing. 

She explained to Mikasa the concept of honne and tatemae, a person’s true intention versus his public stance. 

She spoke of giri or social duties and obligations. 

Of mie wo haru, a showing off often caused by misplaced pride. 

Of ganbaru, a verb Hizuruans used for everything from praising someone to encouraging them to hold on, or to try hard, or to try even harder. 

She made sure to tell Mikasa of the belief in gaman, that incredibly hard to translate word meaning endurance, patience in the face of suffering, tolerance and self-restraint, or persevering in the face of great odds.

Mikasa listened, absorbing everything, saying nothing until Kiyomi says, “You are nineteen now. At Hizuru we have a custom called omiai, or matchmaking. I am your aunt and I’d be honored to be given the important role of nakōdo, a go-between. I can think of some open-minded, modern young aristocrats whom we might consider for you.”

At this talk of marriage, the young woman blushed. “I think…I’m in love with someone already…”

Next – Chapter 2: History Repeats Itself

Back – Intro & Chapter List

Notes

Above illustration is an ukiyo-e woodblock print, Ieyasu Ohitomura Nansen no zu ‘Illustration of Ieyasu’s Difficult Battle at Ohitomura’ (1892) by Yousai Nobukazu.

My favorite rendition of the Akatonbo song is by: Yuki Saori and Yamada Sachiko, shown in the embedded video above. The MP3 is available here.