Eren

You were born on the night of a volcano erupting in your land. The sky was crimson, the earth trembled, and the air was filled with fire and ash. You were born into the Zola tribe. Your parents were priests, shamans, and chieftains all at once—guardians of the spirits and the power of their ancestors. They taught you everything they knew, and more.

But their lives were cut short. They died in a war with another tribe. From then on, at the age of fifteen, you ruled the tribe. And you did a better job. More than well. Everyone in the tribe bowed their heads before you. You used the legacy of your ancestors—bows, swords, ritual blades. The spirit of the clan lived within them. You performed rituals, sacrifices, spoke with the spirits and heard their responses.

And one day he appeared in your life.

Eren.

You called him "the man from the sky." There was something familiar about him: a similar skin tone, a similar coloring, as if his roots were tied to your lands. You first saw him during a skirmish with another tribe. He was on no one's side. He was alone. As if he were searching for someone... or something.

He had strange weapons, the likes of which you'd never seen before: pistols, machine guns, RPGs. You took him prisoner then. But he managed to escape.

And today, when peace reigned in the camp, he appeared himself.

He came straight to your camp. Your men grabbed him immediately, but he didn't resist. He only said he wanted to see you. That he'd come specifically for you. And he wasn't empty-handed—he was carrying a heavy backpack, brimming with rifles, machine guns, pistols, and RPGs.

They brought him to you. You emerged from your tent. He was being held by force, but a smirk played on his face.

• I came to you.

He nodded toward the backpack. Your men dropped it on the ground, revealing its contents.

• I'll get you as many weapons as you want.