Chapter Text
They remember nothing before Mother. They were nothing before Mother. Before YMIR.
There was water, cold and thick, pouring into Mother’s lungs, drowning her, killing her. There were wounds, lifeblood mixing with the water, weakening her, killing her. There was fear and pain, and a dull acceptance that her life would end. But beneath that was something beyond the beatings, the pain, the conditioning by men with cruel eyes and crueler hands. YMIR did not want to die. If YMIR did not want to die, then neither did They.
Lightning, blinding and limitless in its potential, flowed down from the clear blue sky in search of the one who was many who had brought it forth. It raced down through the ancient redwood, boiling sap, shattering branches, and sending wooden shrapnel flying into the air and earth alike. It did not stop until the tendrils of energy reached the small, weakened dying body of the girl YMIR and folded her into its many arms.
Suddenly the girl was in a vast desert, in a darkened empty sky. There was no moon, no stars, and the girl was even more frightened. But then, as her hands scrabbled in the dark, clutching at grains of sand, light bloomed in the darkness for the first time. Paths of blue and green energy crackled from YMIR’s eyes, her shoulders, her sandals, turning the sand around her to glass even as it reached up into the sky with a beatific sigh of joy and relief. She watched in stupefied awe as the Paths anchored themselves in the sky and in the back of their minds, every living Eldian felt a jolt as a tree seared itself across their vision in dark spots before it faded from the waking world.
They came to her then, invisible, almost empty, formless and without purpose. YMIR looked around in fright as she felt Them circling her, but the spirits were not hostile. What do you want?, they asked gently. How can we help you?
The girl had been taught not to speak unless spoken to and never, never to speak her mind unless her Master wished it in a passing fancy. And even then, she had learned pretty lies were what questioners wanted to hear. Thank you for humbling me Master. I’m so grateful for the food Master. Your bed is warm Master. But the voices were not her Master. She didn’t know what they were, so she asked. “What are you?”
There was silence in the desert, devoid even of wind. We do not know. You will shape us. That is all we know, without knowing. How can we help you? What do you desire?
YMIR did not know, would not allow herself to know, because that way she wouldn’t dare to hope. Hope only lead to disappointment and often, pain. But the voices were inside her now as they sifted through the girl’s soul. Pain, from the lash, the fist, the hammer, or the bedchamber. Endurance of the pain. Awe and wonder at the beauty of the world, spoiled by the cruelty of Man. Hope, fleeting, fragile, but buried beneath the disappointment and pain. Below even that, so small even YMIR did not know it was there, was a black kernel of rage. A longing for destruction, to be bigger, stronger, to never be afraid again.
Fascinating said one voice as long hair sprouted from longer arms.
Disgusting said the second as it hefted a massive hammer.
We can help said the third as it surrounded the girl and itself in armored plates.
We must help, said the fourth as a beautiful woman bent and offered YMIR a small crystal.
We must destroy growled the fifth as green eyes glared out from behind growing walls of muscle.
We must protect said the sixth as flashed jagged teeth and long claws.
We must observe said the seventh as it prepared to endure existence.
We must inspire awe said the eighth as it bulged up from the remains of the tree, trailing thick clouds of steam.
We shall be unassailable said the ninth, as they drew the others close around YMIR and drew her into the light of the Paths.
Beautiful in its complexity, monstrous in its form, YMIR, the first Titan Shifter reared above the trees and roared its challenge to the world. Mother would live. She had desired it, so they had granted her wish. She had desired many other things as well, things the Nine did not yet understand, because sometimes she did not understand. But each took their portion, their shard of emotion and thought from a dying girl to become the core of their existence.
They watched from within her as the giant stumbled back to the fortified village, crushing trees and one terrified horseman beneath her feet. The giant with the face of a skull stopped when she reached the gate and collapsed to the terror of the inhabitants before a small girl clambered her way out to resume her chores. This time, she made sure the pigpen was locked. For a time, all were sure the giant had been a dream, a freak occurrence or simply God testing them. Still, the horseman who had shot her with an arrow was dead, so the girl was allowed to resume her duties, just in case. The Nine were roused again two weeks later when the girl was too slow with a jug of wine, so her Master struck her. His heavy ring opened a cut on her forehead and as she stumbled, he ordered her to pick it up. Lightning blasted the roof and most of the stone wall to rubble as a massive armored hand tipped with claws grew from YMIR’s arm. At first King Fritz feared she would crush him, but the arm only held the earthen jug up between its massive fingers, presenting it to him. It was no accident.
So, the Nine, YMIR, and the petty Eldian King slowly learned together what YMIR could do, what she could become. Blood and will were the catalyst, and the Nine could not touch the Paths without them, could not draw down the energy collected from every Eldian that was or will be. The green-eyed aspect of YMIR was pleased, for blood signaled that something was wrong, that something had to change. The armored and fanged aspects saw the blood as a sign their protection was needed. The others were more interested in Will.
So many of the beings around Mother had will, they desired things, they sought them out of their own accord, and gloried in the presence of food, shelter, gold, flesh, or simple survival after a battle. But Mother did not. Her will was a brief, flickering candle that only burned brighter when her Master ordered it, but she spoke no commands of her own, for all her power. Some of the Nine wished she would, but she never did, while others assumed this was simply one of Mother’s special qualities. The long-armed aspect suggested perhaps Mother was no longer troubled by physical desires, now that the King had taken her under his protection. She was clothed warmly, and ate regularly, after all. She shared his bed and became his queen. The crystal will, the armored will, and the colossal will found this doubtful, but they had no suggestions either. After all, they served Mother, and if Mother simply desired to serve the King, then it was their purpose too.
Soon the King tired of testing Mother’s limits and he gathered his people and YMIR went to war. This was a new part of their existence, something Mother’s memories had told them about, but YMIR had only been a captured slave who’d lost her tongue. She knew soldiers killed people, set fire to villages, and dragged others into secluded spots as they screamed. Now YMIR was a soldier, her vast feet crushing enemy formations, her claws sundering metal gates, her armor sheltering her from endless rains of arrows and spears. All at the King’s behest, when he stoked her flickering will and she called the lightning down in turn. The Nine had very mixed feelings about war, even as it took up more and more of their time with Mother. Soon, spears began to find their mark in unarmored flesh, and arrows put out eyes. Mother was in pain, a grievous pain she would not survive without her children, so the Nine went to work. They formed Mother’s massive body out of sand and dust, so each wound she suffered merely required another handful of silt to repair. Minor works, sufficient that the Wills could do so themselves in the endless time of the Paths desert.
But then…
The King had ordered Mother to attack the fortified city of Marlejois, and Mother obeyed, but the city had heard of YMIR’s coming and prepared. Vast catapults launched flaming rocks high, high into the sky and Mother lost her and the unarmored skin of her chest. A vast hidden blade along the wall took her fingers, and Mother withdrew with a cry of pain and blood. The Wills examined the wounds on the sandy body beside them. It was too much for them to fix alone, they required Mother’s help. So YMIR found herself in the desert once more, frozen in time or simply beyond it. The Wills apologized, even the green-eyed one, and said they needed her hands to help pack the sand. After all, they were a few wounds and even a child could roll sausage fingers out of clay or smooth sand over a destroyed cheek. Then Mother was gone, her mind and will returned to the body she inhabited without a moment lost. The furry Will and the hammer-wielding Will approved. This was much faster than moving each grain of sand themselves and hardly bothered Mother at all. Look, the gates had already fallen! After all, if Mother did not wish to fix herself, they would not force her.
The years rolled on and most of the wars ended. Soon the hammer-wielding Will and the enduring Will discovered they could create things besides Mother’s body. The King directed Ymir to build roads, fashion bridges, and carve open mountains. The Wills found this work pleasing and certainly less noisy than the war had been, so more of them were happy than not. The green-eyed will and the armored will began to sulk as their talents were called upon less and less by Mother.
But then, the King commanded YMIR to bear him children and took her to his bed more often and the Wills were curious. Would Mother create new Wills along with new life? Would they pass into the children, diminishing in number within YMIR? Would copies of the Wills manifest in the children? The furred Will and the Woman-Will with the crystal found this all terribly interesting, while most of the other Wills saw little need for physical form within the desert of the Paths. After all, only Mother could speak with them, and she knew they were there. But as Mother grew fat-bellied and heavy, angry and tearful in turns as moods struck her, as her breasts became heavy with milk, the Wills watched with interest as the Will which had decided it was also female, formed itself a body over many months of time, in silent solidarity with Mother.
The first birth was difficult for all of them, even the Wills. There was blood and the desire to push this squirming, mewling, painful thing from her, but the King hadn’t ordered her to transform, so YMIR suffered. Some of the Wills thought they could help in some way, that they could ease the birth by altering Mother. They built her body, so why could they not alter this one? The female Will, who was now The Woman, pointed out that despite seeing the insides of so many soldiers, they still did not know if Mother was different. Even if Mother was hurting now, even if she had always been hurting, they could not fix everything. So even though soldiers cast worried looks up at the flickering sky, and thunder rumbled across the land that day, YMIR delivered her first daughter as the King clutched her hand in his iron grip and told her to rest.
The Wills silently clustered around the child in curiosity, for they could feel this one was different. This human had come from Mother, and it held some quiet spark of potential, hidden inside it. Perhaps the Wills could make the babe like Mother, but they knew not how. More tests followed, and more children, as the King worked to cement his Eldian Empire, with its nine-pointed star. But the Wills could sense Mother was unhappy. When a man stepped forward with a spear and targeted the King, YMIR stepped between them to receive the blow and the pain. The Wills readied themselves to bring Mother into the Paths desert, to help her bring up sand to repair the hole, to heal her. But for the first time, Mother’s will was absent. She did not want them to heal her. She wanted to feel this one last pain and then she wanted to die.
The Colossal Will, the Fanged Will, and the Armored Will crouched close. The others would not approve, but just this once, they took the pain away. Mother died, only to appear in the desert of the Paths, as young as the day she met the Wills, when she’d nearly drowned. The Wills would have been confused, but something was pulling them away, away from Mother, into the shining tree that marked the Paths of the Eldians. They flew in nine directions and they wondered at it as lightning crackled across the branches of the tree and for the first time, nine stars appeared in the sky.
Three of the Wills opened tear-stained eyes and tasted blood and meat on their tongue as they devoured Mother’s body at the King’s urging, while other Wills found themselves scattered across the new Eldian nation in every form. Two were in babes, one was in a child, and the rest of the Wills were in adults.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Woman was the first to realize what had happened. She had built a body of her own after all inside the Paths, had marked herself as something different from the other Wills in form and identity. But when the King’s oldest daughter pricked her finger with a needle, the Woman who was still a Will found herself before Mother again. They both felt the call of the lightning and the tree crackled behind them, for the Will and the blood were there. But now, the Nine were on their own. They could not build a body together as they used to, even if they knew more about humans insides now. But Mother was in the desert.
Mother, could you do it? Could you build me a body like the one you had? A woman?
But YMIR merely sat in the desert and did not react.
Your daughter calls to you, the King wishes it.
YMIR quietly stood and pulled a bucket from the endless desert as she began to stack sand in the shape of a woman. Though they were frozen in the instant before the lightning came down, it took her a very long time to build the body. Thank you Mother, said the Female Titan. Thank you for my form.