The Spiral Garden was sealed behind layers of stone and silence.
But the tremors it left behind rippled across the world.
Wall Rose had begun to bleed.
Not with blood, but with memories—faces of the dead seeping through the cracks, whispers crawling across the walls like vines. Soldiers called them ghosts. The scholars had another name.
Spiralborn.
---
Interior - Capital Command, Nightfall
"The bleeding's accelerating," Armin said, setting Ymir's journal on the table. "And there's another part I missed."
He flipped to a page previously stuck together by dried blood and old glue.
> "If the Eye survives impact, and Fiction meets Flesh... The Echo will follow. The Spiral feeds on recognition."
"Fiction?" Mikasa asked, brows furrowed.
Arata's hands clenched tightly at his sides.
"I think she means me."
---
Arata's Truth – A Memory
He stood in a mirror.
Not here. Not this world.
A subway reflection. A Tokyo uniform. Glasses. A stack of manga volumes—Naruto, Attack on Titan, Bleach.
"I was just a guy," he whispered, staring at the other version of himself. "I liked stories. I didn't live in one."
Then came the accident. The moment between life and death.
Somewhere in that void, something saw him—saw what he knew, what he believed in. And it gave him a story of his own.
Madara's power. Chakra. The Sharingan. Fiction etched into his bones.
But it was never truly his.
It had leaked into him.
Like a virus.
---
Now – Outside Wall Rose
The walls rippled again.
From a spiraled rift emerged a figure. Human. Pale. Familiar.
He looked like Arata—but too sharp, too perfect. Like an AI generated version of him based on fan art.
His eyes glowed red. Mangekyō Sharingan.
But his presence felt hollow.
"Arata?" Eren asked, stepping forward, unsure.
"No," Arata whispered, stepping beside him. "That's not me. That's not even… real."
---
The Echo
The figure tilted his head. "So this is where I ended up."
He scanned the world with dispassionate interest.
"I was born the moment you died," he said to Arata. "When your mind crossed the veil, and your beliefs tore into the code of this reality."
"Who are you?" Arata asked.
"I'm what you would've become," he answered. "If you were born in the world you worshipped."
He smiled thinly.
"Call me Kaen. The perfect Uchiha. The idea made flesh."
---
Kaen's Origin
He wasn't Arata's brother. He wasn't even a person.
He was a manifestation—a conscious echo of everything Arata had once loved. All the power fantasies. All the lore. All the "what ifs."
When Arata was pulled into this world, the rift didn't just bring him.
It brought the fiction inside him.
And now, it had taken shape.
Kaen.
An Uchiha in a world that shouldn't have them. A chakra being in a world of Titans.
A virus of belief.
---
Tensions Rise
Back at command, Levi eyed Arata carefully.
"So what you're saying is, you're carrying around more than just power," he said. "You're carrying the damn blueprint."
"I never meant for this," Arata replied. "But Kaen… he doesn't want to destroy this world. He wants to overwrite it."
Annie stepped forward, face unreadable.
"And if this Kaen offers me power?" she asked. "A Titan form that never existed before? Should I say no?"
"You should say why he gave it to you," Arata answered. "Because it's not a gift. It's proof this world is no longer writing its own story."
---
Spiralborn Surge
Wall Rose cracked.
The first Spiralborn Titan emerged—twisted, its spine rotating like a drill, its face layered in repeating copies of the same screaming mouth.
Not a Titan. Not quite.
Something in-between.
Levi, Mikasa, and Eren leapt into action—but it was Arata who moved first, his eyes glowing.
He activated his Susanoo—and felt his body rejecting it.
Like his soul was splitting in two.
"You're weakening," Kaen's voice echoed from the wall.
"You weren't built to hold that kind of story forever."
---
Closing Scene – Countdown Begins
That night, Arata stood on the wall.
Beside him, the spiral eclipse had grown larger.
Not a sun.
Not a moon.
A spiral eye.
Watching.
Time was collapsing. Fiction and reality were blurring.
And Arata now realized:
He wasn't the chosen one.
He was the error.