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The stables were quiet, save for the rhythmic creaking of wood as the wind pressed against the walls. Outside, the world was blanketed in thick snow, and the air held that biting kind of cold that settled into the bones, but inside the stable, lanterns cast a warm, golden glow over the hay-strewn floor.
Petra sat on an overturned bucket outside the stall, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, but the chill still nipped at her fingers, her breath escaping in soft, white puffs. She barely noticed anymore. She had been keeping watch over Celeste for three nights now, and exhaustion gnawed at her bones, but she refused to leave.
The mare was close—too close to risk stepping away now.
Petra had seen the signs all night: the restless shifting, the flicking of Celeste’s tail, the way her muscles tensed and rippled beneath her sleek, brown coat. The mare let out a deep, uneven breath, ears twitching as she shifted again, her large eyes finding Petra’s in the dim light.
“I know, girl,” Petra murmured, shifting in her seat. “It won’t be long now.”
She didn’t even hear the stable door open, not until a familiar voice cut through the stillness.
“You look like hell.”
Petra turned just as Captain Levi stepped into the warm lantern glow, his usual scowl firmly in place. Snow dusted his shoulders, melting into the thick fabric of his coat, and in one hand, he carried a wrapped loaf of bread, in the other, a steaming tin cup.
Her stomach twisted painfully at the sight of the food, and Levi, ever observant, narrowed his eyes.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
Petra pressed her lips together.
“That’s what I thought,” Levi muttered, stepping forward and thrusting the cup toward her. “Here.”
She hesitated only for a second before wrapping her fingers around it, warmth seeping into her cold, stiff hands. “What is it?”
“Tea,” he said shortly, before tossing the wrapped loaf into her lap. “And don’t even try arguing with me about this.”
Petra gave him a tired, lopsided smile. “What, no silverware?”
Levi folded his arms, unimpressed. “Right. Let me just go get you a full damn banquet while I’m at it.”
She let out a soft laugh, her tired eyes meeting his for a moment before she broke off a piece of bread. She chewed slowly, savoring the warmth as it spread through her. When she took a sip of the tea, the warmth seeped into her bones, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the small comfort. The cold had gnawed at her for hours, but Levi, ever perceptive, had sensed it and brought her something to stave it off.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured, glancing up at him.
Levi shrugged. “Didn’t have to, but someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out in a pile of horse shit.”
Before she could answer, Celeste let out a strained groan, her whole body tensing.
Petra shot up, tea and bread forgotten. “She’s going down.”
Levi barely had time to step back before Petra slipped into the stall, kneeling in the straw beside the mare. Celeste lay on her side, her breathing deep and labored.
“You’re okay, girl,” Petra murmured, running a soothing hand down her flank. “You’re doing great.”
Levi hovered at the entrance, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, his sharp gaze flicking between Petra and the mare. He was watching, assessing, but he didn’t step closer.
Petra barely noticed, she was too focused on Celeste. The mare’s muscles rippled as contractions rolled through her, and then, finally—
“There,” Petra breathed, spotting movement. A pair of small front hooves appeared, followed by the delicate curve of a tiny nose.
Levi exhaled quietly, shifting on his feet. “That’s normal?”
“Yes,” Petra reassured him. “She’s doing everything right.”
But then Celeste pushed again, and the foal barely budged.
Petra’s stomach clenched.
Something wasn’t right.
Her eyes scanned quickly, assessing, and then she saw it, one of the foal’s legs was stuck.
She swore under her breath.
“What?” Levi demanded, catching the shift in her expression.
Petra didn’t look up. “The leg—it’s caught. I have to fix it.”
Levi stepped closer. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing.”
His jaw tightened. He hated that. Being useless. But there was nothing he could do here—this wasn’t his world, it was hers.
Taking a steadying breath, Petra reached into the birth canal, her fingers grazing the foal’s slick, trembling leg.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured, carefully gripping the trapped limb. Slowly, gently, she repositioned it, guiding it forward to align properly.
Celeste let out a deep, straining groan. Petra pulled back just as the mare pushed one last time—
And the foal slipped free.
A tiny, perfect chestnut filly.
The baby trembled in the straw, her tiny body slick and damp as Celeste immediately turned, nuzzling her baby and licking her clean. The mare’s deep, rhythmic nickers filled the stall, a mother’s instinct guiding her as she tended to her newborn.
Petra released a slow breath, only then realizing she’d been holding it. The filly’s ears flicked uncertainly, and she let out a thin, shaky whinny that sounded more like a question than a call. Petra smiled, small and worn, but full of something warm.
“She’s beautiful,” she whispered.
She reached out instinctively, then paused, hand hovering just short of the foal’s damp shoulder. Celeste was already lowering her head, nickering softly as she licked her daughter clean, and Petra knew better than to crowd a new mother in those first moments.
Levi watched it all without speaking. When he finally folded his arms, it wasn’t in impatience—just something to do with his hands. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice quieter than usual. “She is.”
He stepped into the stall then, boots crunching softly in the straw. His eyes lingered on the filly for only a second before drifting back to Petra. There was still tension in his posture, concern not fully faded, but beneath it was something else, something close to awe.
“You make it look easy,” he said.
Petra gave him a tired but proud smile. "It’s not easy. But it’s worth it."
Levi had seen Petra in battle, how she moved with calculated precision, her blades cutting through Titans with unwavering resolve. He had watched her fight; her every action deliberate and fierce. But now, those same hands, which had claimed countless victories on the battlefield, trembled with something different—something softer.
“Levi,” Petra said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Pass me another towel?”
He blinked, pulled from his thoughts. Without a word, he reached into the pile of clean cloths outside the stall, stepping fully into the stall now to hand her the towel.
“Thanks,” she murmured, shifting onto her knees.
Levi crouched beside Petra, his gaze following hers as she watched the mare and her foal, her eyes glassy with exhaustion but sparkling with quiet pride.
"Not bad, Petra," he muttered, his voice low and almost soft.
She managed a weak chuckle, glancing at him with a tired smile. "You’re impressed, aren’t you?"
Levi raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Don’t get ahead of yourself."
Her smile still lingering, Petra looked back at the filly, then, ever so carefully worked the towel over the foal’s damp coat, rubbing her dry as Celeste continued to nuzzle her baby. Petra’s hands were gentle, her touch deliberate, and then, just as she smoothed the cloth over the filly’s tiny back, she began to hum.
Levi stilled.
It was quiet at first, barely above a whisper, but then the words followed, soft and warm.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy when skies are gray…”
Her voice, though heavy with exhaustion, was light, almost airy, weaving through the stable like something sacred.
Levi had never heard her sing before.
He watched her, the way her fingers moved with care, the way her golden eyes softened as she gazed down at the foal. He had seen her carve through Titans, seen her drenched in blood and battle-hardened grit, but this, this was something different.
Something untouched by war.
"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,
Please don’t take my sunshine away."
She smiled to herself, stroking the foal’s tiny head. “My mom used to sing this whenever a new baby was born—human or animal. She always said it was a way to welcome them into the world. A reminder that they were loved from the very start.”
Levi’s throat tightened.
Love.
It was such a foreign concept; one he had never been afforded. He had never been welcomed into the world with something as simple as a lullaby.
And yet, here was Petra, offering it so freely, to a newborn foal, to the mare, to the quiet night itself.
His expression, usually unreadable, softened just slightly.
Petra looked back at the filly, who was wobbly but determined, already trying to stand. Levi followed her gaze, exhaling through his nose.
“Guess she’s got your stubbornness,” he muttered.
Petra huffed a tired laugh. “Yeah?”
Levi hesitated, then nodded toward the window, where the faintest hint of dawn crept through the frost-covered glass. “It’s the Winter Solstice.”
Petra blinked.
Levi shrugged, glancing back at the filly. “Solstice. That should be her name.”
Petra stared at him, warmth blooming in her chest. Then, slowly, she smiled.
“Yeah,” she murmured, her gaze sliding back to the mare and foal. “Solstice. It’s perfect.”
Solstice, still wobbly, took her first shaky steps, pressing close to Celeste’s side. The mare nosed her baby encouragingly, and after a moment, the filly latched on to nurse.
Petra let out a deep, satisfied sigh, leaning back against the wooden wall of the stall. The exhaustion, the long nights, the worry, it all crashed into her at once.
Levi noticed immediately.
She was spent.
With barely a thought, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his handkerchief.
Petra furrowed her brows. “What are you—”
“Your hands,” he muttered, taking one of hers in his own. “They’re filthy.”
Only then did she realize how dirty her hands and forearms were, slick with blood, birth fluid, and hay dust.
Levi worked in silence, wiping her fingers clean with surprising care. His touch was deliberate, methodical, but there was something else there too—something careful, almost reverent.
Petra watched him, her exhaustion weighing heavy on her limbs, but warmth bloomed in her chest at the quiet gesture.
“Levi…” she murmured, barely above a whisper.
“Don’t wanna hear it,” he muttered, not looking at her. “Just let me do this.”
She did.
Levi Ackerman was not a man of grand gestures, but this, this simple, quiet care, it meant something.
Her eyelids grew heavier with each passing second. The warmth of the stable, the softness of Levi’s hands against hers—it was enough to pull her under.
By the time Levi finished, she was already asleep.
“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Knew this was gonna happen.”
Petra had been running herself into the ground for days, too damn stubborn to step away even for a moment. And now, here she was, slumped in a pile of straw, covered in sweat and birth fluids, dead to the world.
Levi sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hopeless.”
But he wasn’t really irritated. Not at her, anyway.
With practiced ease, he shifted forward, bracing one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. She barely stirred as he lifted her, curling instinctively toward his warmth.
He stood, adjusting his hold, and for a moment, just looked at her.
She was exhausted—deeply, thoroughly exhausted, but her face was peaceful in sleep, lips parted slightly, her hair falling loose from its tie. In the soft glow of the lanterns, she looked…different. Softer. Vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing.
Levi clicked his tongue, tearing his gaze away. Dwelling on things like that was dangerous.
He cast one last glance at the stall. Celeste had curled protectively around her newborn, and Solstice, wobbly and new, had finally managed to stand, and already nursing.
They’d be fine.
With that, he turned, pushing the stable door open with his shoulder. The cold hit him immediately, biting through his coat, but he kept his stride steady as he carried Petra across the snow-covered grounds.
She barely weighed anything. That wasn’t surprising. She was small, even in full gear, but like hell would he ever say that out loud.
As they passed through the darkened corridors of the barracks, he felt her shift slightly in his arms, murmuring something unintelligible. Her forehead pressed against his chest, seeking warmth even in sleep.
Levi swallowed.
He should take her to her room. Should just drop her onto her cot, throw a blanket over her, and be done with it. That would be the logical thing. The safe thing.
Instead, he found himself moving past her door.
His quarters were closer. That was the excuse he gave himself. The cold was brutal, and she was already shivering. If she stayed out here longer than necessary, she’d catch something, and he wasn’t about to deal with a sick Petra on top of everything else.
That was the excuse.
Pushing open his door, he stepped inside, letting the warmth of his quarters settle around them. It wasn’t much, just a small room, sparsely furnished, clean and efficient—but it was warm. That was all that mattered.
Carefully, he lowered Petra onto his bed, easing her down until her head rested against the pillow. She sighed in her sleep, burrowing into the blankets instinctively.
Levi exhaled, running a hand down his face.
This was a mistake.
But he was already too deep in it.
With methodical movements, he tugged off her boots, setting them neatly by the bedside. He unfastened her cloak, draping it over the chair. His fingers brushed against hers as he moved.
They were cold.
Too damn cold.
Levi scowled, rubbing her hands between his own for a moment, trying to coax warmth back into them. Petra shifted, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t wake.
Finally, satisfied, he pulled the blankets over her, stepping back.
She looked so damn small like this.
Levi inhaled sharply, shaking his head. He had to get out of here before he started thinking too much.
With one last glance at her sleeping form, he moved to the chair, settling in with a quiet exhale. He wasn’t about to leave her alone after everything.
He’d just stay for a bit.
Just to make sure she was okay.
Outside, the wind howled against the walls, snow drifting softly against the glass.
Inside, the room was quiet. Warm.
And for the first time in a long time, Levi let himself close his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of Petra’s breathing.
Maybe, just for tonight, he could rest too.