webAppInput

SceneIdQuery

myProfile

scene

query SceneIdQuery(
  $id: ID!
  $webAppInput: WebAppInput
) {
  myProfile(webAppInput: $webAppInput) {
    ...MyProfile_myProfile
    id
  }
  scene(id: $id) {
    ...Scene_scene
    ...SceneMedias_scene
    id
    order
    rating
    title
    seoTitle
    seoDescription
    isPublished
    isScheduled
    publishedAt
    content
    story {
      ...Story_story
      id
      isMine
      commentsAccess
    }
    prevScene {
      id
    }
    nextScene {
      id
    }
  }
}

fragment MyProfile_myProfile on User {
  id
  name
  email
  isAdmin
  hasEverPaid
  isEmailConfirmed
  isEmailNotificationEnabled
  isTelegramNotificationEnabled
  isTempPassword
  avatar
  cover
  about
  contacts
  support
  telegramId
  vkId
  availableLimits
  frozenLimits
  urlSlug
  topUpPackages {
    id
    price
    currency
    toBalanceLimits
    bonusLimits
    totalCreditedLimits
    USD
  }
  availablePaymentProviders
  aiGenerationCosts {
    plan {
      size
      cost
    }
    characterSuggest
    ideaExpand
    sceneWrite {
      length
      cost
    }
    mediaGenerate
    videoGenerate
  }
  activeGenerationJobs {
    id
    type
    status
    story {
      id
      authorTitle
    }
  }
}

fragment SceneMedias_scene on Scene {
  id
  story {
    id
  }
  mediaAttachments {
    id
    media {
      id
      type
      origin
      status
      previewSrc
      mediaSrc512: mediaSrc(size: 512)
      mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      videoPosterSrc(size: 1024)
      generationError
      userPrompt
      finalPrompt
      rawPrompt
      activeGenerationJob {
        status
        currentStage
        id
      }
      mediaAttachments {
        id
        story {
          id
        }
        scene {
          id
        }
        character {
          id
        }
      }
      embeddedInScenes {
        id
      }
    }
  }
  sceneCharacterStates {
    id
    character {
      id
      name
    }
  }
}

fragment Scene_scene on Scene {
  id
  order
  displayOrder
  title
  rating
  isPublished
  isScheduled
  publishedAt
  minWaitersToPublish
  waitersCount
  readCount
  content
  story {
    id
    isMine
  }
}

fragment Story_story on Story {
  id
  title
  publicDescription
  type
  size
  narrativeType
  rating
  hasCharacters
  status
  isPublished
  isMine
  publishedAt
  likesCount
  favoritesCount
  displayDirection
  plotGenres
  settingGenres
  moods
  tropes
  displayContentWarnings
  sceneAtmospheres
  publishedStats {
    scenesCount
    wordsCount
  }
  author {
    id
    name
    urlSlug
    avatar
  }
  characters {
    id
    name
  }
  fandoms {
    id
    urlSlug
    translation {
      canonicalName
      id
    }
  }
  myState {
    isLiked
    isFavorited
    isWaiting
    id
  }
  lastPublishedScene {
    id
  }
}


The hours had bled away since Erwin had locked the logbook in his desk, leaving him in a state of professional stasis that felt increasingly like a slow-motion collapse. Now, standing in the heart of the royal banquet hall, he was surrounded by the suffocating opulence of a peace that he alone knew was built upon a graveyard of inconvenient truths. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, expensive wine, and the polished perfumes of the aristocracy, a sensory assault that made his lungs feel constricted. His own Survey Corps uniform felt like a heavy, restrictive shroud amidst the colorful silks and embroidered coats of the nobility.

Beside him, Levi Ackerman remained a portrait of unwavering stillness, his gaze sharp and methodical as he scanned the room for threats that had long since been neutralized. Levi did not move, his posture rigid and his hands resting almost imperceptibly near his blades, as if expecting the floor to give way beneath them. Erwin felt his comrade’s presence like a silent anchor, a grounding force that paradoxically intensified the isolation of his secret. He could see the faint, rhythmic pulse in Levi's neck, a reminder of the vigilance that defined their existence, yet Levi remained blissfully unaware of the specific rot that lay at the foundation of this celebration.

Historia Reiss stepped onto the low, velvet-draped dais, her presence radiating a gentle grace that seemed to act as a magnet for the room’s ambient hum. Her gown, embroidered with the symbols of the crown, rustled softly, a sound that cut through the clinking of crystal flutes and the rising chatter of the guests. She looked serene, a queen who truly believed in the promise of her kingdom, her blue eyes scanning the crowd with an empathy that Erwin found both comforting and devastating. He watched as she raised a hand, a subtle gesture that rippled through the gathering, causing the din of conversation to recede into a respectful, anticipatory quiet.

Erwin tightened his grip on his own glass, the stem cold and slippery against his palm, and he forced a composed expression onto his face, masking the exhaustion that pulled at his muscles. He knew the narrative that Historia was about to deliver, a rehearsed story of unity and progress that the government had finalized weeks ago. It was a beautiful, necessary fiction, and as she stood there, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the chandeliers, Erwin felt the crushing weight of the logbook’s memory burning in the recesses of his mind. He was the guardian of the ghosts, the architect of a silence that he had sworn to uphold.

My dear citizens and partners, Historia began, her voice carrying an effortless maturity that belied her young age and the turmoil behind the throne. She held her chin high, her voice resonating through the large hall, filling the space with a calm authority that seemed to steady the very foundations of the building. We stand here tonight not merely to celebrate our victory over the past, but to embrace the future we have forged together, a future earned through the sacrifice and resilience of every soul who fought for the sanctity of these walls.

Erwin watched her closely, noticing how she paused, her eyes briefly meeting his across the expanse of the room. In that moment of eye contact, he felt a flicker of profound guilt, a sharp pang in his chest that threated to bypass the control he had cultivated over years of command. She believed in the narrative of righteous triumph, and he was the one who had kept the truth of the tactical purge from ever darkening her vision or the public’s perception of the military command. He offered her a faint, imperceptible nod, a gesture intended to reassure, though it felt like a betrayal of his own conscience.

Levi shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the interaction between them, his posture tightening even further. You look like you’re waiting for the ceiling to collapse, Commander, Levi murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible even to Erwin. It was a sharp, clinical observation that hit too close to the internal reality Erwin had been trying to suppress behind layers of rigid military etiquette and bureaucratic duties.

I am simply weary, Levi, Erwin replied, keeping his own voice low and measured, devoid of any betraying tremor. It is a long ceremony, and the air in this room has grown quite thin. He looked away from the dais, deliberately focusing on a cluster of diplomats near the edge of the dance floor, watching their animated gestures as they toasted to prosperity. He wondered if any of them, in their vanity and comfort, suspected the cost of the peace they enjoyed, or if they were merely contented players in a game they did not realize was rigged.

Historia continued her speech, her tone shifting to one of hopeful, forward-looking determination, her words weaving a tapestry of light and promise. We have emerged from the shadows of our ancestors into a day where we define our own destiny, free from the terror that once dictated our movements, our laws, and our very thoughts. It is a burden of gratitude I hold every day, to lead a people recovered from the edge of oblivion, and I toast to the eternal peace that we shall maintain for the generations to follow.

She raised her glass, the crystal catching the amber light of the chandeliers, and a chorus of agreement rose from the crowd like a wave. Erwin held his breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on his shoulders as he realized he had to participate in this charade, to echo the sentiment that denied the reality of the dead soldiers whose names had been scrubbed from history. He lifted his glass alongside the others, his hand steady despite the roiling turmoil beneath the surface, his heart heavy with the secret of the purge.

To the peace, everyone chanted in unison. The words hit the high ceiling and scattered, mixing with the festive music that began to swell as the formal portion of the evening transitioned into a night of celebration. Erwin’s throat felt dry as he took a sip of the drink, the liquid tasting of nothing but dust and forgotten promises. He felt disconnected, an actor on a stage he had built himself, watching the dancers swirl around him in a rhythmic pulse that felt increasingly alien.

Levi, meanwhile, had not joined in the toast, his glass remained untouched on a nearby sideboard, his gaze locked onto the crowd with the vigilance of a man who didn't know how to exist in a world without peril. He moved an inch closer to Erwin, his voice dropping low again, a sharp, gravelly whisper. There’s something bothering you more than just the crowd. You’ve been staring at the wall for the last five minutes like you expected a crack to appear in the stone.

Erwin didn't turn his head, his focus fixed on a flickering candle that struggled against the draft in the room. I suppose it is the nature of peace, Levi. It leaves too much time for contemplation, and the mind is an unreliable place to linger when you have seen what I have seen. He felt the cold iron of his own resolve, a barrier he could not break without shattering the very peace Historia had just toasted. He was the keeper of both the wall and the lie, and that realization brought with it a suffocating sense of finality.

I don’t like it when you get poetic, Erwin, Levi said, his voice hard but tinged with a flicker of genuine irritation. Poets are usually the first ones to lose their heads in a transition. We are soldiers, regardless of whether there is a fight or a banquet. We are meant to be standing, not wandering through our own memories of mistakes we’ve buried.

Erwin felt a bitter smile touch his lips for a fraction of a second before he smoothed it away. A soldier’s duty evolves, my friend. Perhaps some things are meant to be buried, and perhaps we are merely the custodians of the soil. He glanced at Historia again, watching her move through the room, greeting dignitaries with a warmth that felt brittle under the weight of his own hidden knowledge. She was the sunlight, and he was the shadow, a necessary duality.

He felt the walls of the hall closing in on him, the opulence no longer elegant but garish, the celebration a discordant noise. He had to breathe real, untainted air, to step outside of this artificial construct where every word felt like a lie and every toast felt like an insult to the ones who were no longer there to object. The silence between him and Levi stretched, filled only with the cacophony of the celebration and the rhythmic, hollow ticking of a nearby clock that marked every second of his continued, enforced duplicity.

He began to turn, his movements deliberate and slow, shifting his center of gravity toward the heavy oak doors that led to the corridor and the quiet beyond. Levi didn't follow immediately, but his eyes tracked the movement, a silent, predatory assessment that never truly turned off. The distance between Erwin and the exit felt like miles of open field, a stretch of ground he had to traverse without appearing to flee, maintaining the composure that the command expected of him even in his most desperate moments of internal fracture.

As he reached the edge of the circular table, he paused and looked back for a final time. Historia was laughing at some remark from an official, her laughter bright and genuine. It was a beautiful sight, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, Erwin wished he could strip the weight of the logbook from his soul and inhabit her ignorance, to believe, truly believe, in the purity of the peace they were celebrating. He realized then that he couldn't stop the truth from existing, but he could choose to stop it from poisoning the world they were trying to build.

He adjusted his cloak, the fabric heavy and familiar, and acknowledged a passing officer with a stiff, formal nod that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. The officer smiled, not seeing the man behind the uniform, only the legend, the commander who had brought them to this day. Erwin passed him by, his footsteps silent on the thick, decorative carpets, his mind already drifting to the next day’s reports, the next set of lies he would have to curate to protect the fragile order of their world.

Levi remained, his presence as consistent as the architecture, his gaze flickering from Historia to Erwin, back and forth, a silent, sharp-eyed sentry. Erwin reached the threshold, the air from the darkened corridor outside chilling the sweat on his brow. He didn't look back again, yet he could feel the weight of Levi’s eyes on his spine, a heavy, probing stare that seemed to pierce right through his uniform, through his skin, and into the very depths of the secret he carried.

He took a final, measured breath, the scent of the garden’s night air beginning to filter in. He stepped past the threshold of the banquet hall, the sound of the celebration muted by the solid wood to a low, droning hum. He excused himself from the table, his movements precise and disciplined even in his desire for isolation, while Levi Ackerman watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, tracking the departure as if he were waiting to see if Erwin would stumble or reveal a crack in his armor.

The hours had bled away since Erwin had locked the logbook in his desk, leaving him in a state of professional stasis that felt increasingly like a slow-motion collapse. Now, standing in the heart of the royal banquet hall, he was surrounded by the suffocating opulence of a peace that he alone knew was built upon a graveyard of inconvenient truths. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, expensive wine, and the polished perfumes of the aristocracy, a sensory assault that made his lungs feel constricted. His own Survey Corps uniform felt like a heavy, restrictive shroud amidst the colorful silks and embroidered coats of the nobility.

Beside him, Levi Ackerman remained a portrait of unwavering stillness, his gaze sharp and methodical as he scanned the room for threats that had long since been neutralized. Levi did not move, his posture rigid and his hands resting almost imperceptibly near his blades, as if expecting the floor to give way beneath them. Erwin felt his comrade’s presence like a silent anchor, a grounding force that paradoxically intensified the isolation of his secret. He could see the faint, rhythmic pulse in Levi's neck, a reminder of the vigilance that defined their existence, yet Levi remained blissfully unaware of the specific rot that lay at the foundation of this celebration.

Historia Reiss stepped onto the low, velvet-draped dais, her presence radiating a gentle grace that seemed to act as a magnet for the room’s ambient hum. Her gown, embroidered with the symbols of the crown, rustled softly, a sound that cut through the clinking of crystal flutes and the rising chatter of the guests. She looked serene, a queen who truly believed in the promise of her kingdom, her blue eyes scanning the crowd with an empathy that Erwin found both comforting and devastating. He watched as she raised a hand, a subtle gesture that rippled through the gathering, causing the din of conversation to recede into a respectful, anticipatory quiet.

Erwin tightened his grip on his own glass, the stem cold and slippery against his palm, and he forced a composed expression onto his face, masking the exhaustion that pulled at his muscles. He knew the narrative that Historia was about to deliver, a rehearsed story of unity and progress that the government had finalized weeks ago. It was a beautiful, necessary fiction, and as she stood there, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the chandeliers, Erwin felt the crushing weight of the logbook’s memory burning in the recesses of his mind. He was the guardian of the ghosts, the architect of a silence that he had sworn to uphold.

My dear citizens and partners, Historia began, her voice carrying an effortless maturity that belied her young age and the turmoil behind the throne. She held her chin high, her voice resonating through the large hall, filling the space with a calm authority that seemed to steady the very foundations of the building. We stand here tonight not merely to celebrate our victory over the past, but to embrace the future we have forged together, a future earned through the sacrifice and resilience of every soul who fought for the sanctity of these walls.

Erwin watched her closely, noticing how she paused, her eyes briefly meeting his across the expanse of the room. In that moment of eye contact, he felt a flicker of profound guilt, a sharp pang in his chest that threated to bypass the control he had cultivated over years of command. She believed in the narrative of righteous triumph, and he was the one who had kept the truth of the tactical purge from ever darkening her vision or the public’s perception of the military command. He offered her a faint, imperceptible nod, a gesture intended to reassure, though it felt like a betrayal of his own conscience.

Levi shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the interaction between them, his posture tightening even further. You look like you’re waiting for the ceiling to collapse, Commander, Levi murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible even to Erwin. It was a sharp, clinical observation that hit too close to the internal reality Erwin had been trying to suppress behind layers of rigid military etiquette and bureaucratic duties.

I am simply weary, Levi, Erwin replied, keeping his own voice low and measured, devoid of any betraying tremor. It is a long ceremony, and the air in this room has grown quite thin. He looked away from the dais, deliberately focusing on a cluster of diplomats near the edge of the dance floor, watching their animated gestures as they toasted to prosperity. He wondered if any of them, in their vanity and comfort, suspected the cost of the peace they enjoyed, or if they were merely contented players in a game they did not realize was rigged.

Historia continued her speech, her tone shifting to one of hopeful, forward-looking determination, her words weaving a tapestry of light and promise. We have emerged from the shadows of our ancestors into a day where we define our own destiny, free from the terror that once dictated our movements, our laws, and our very thoughts. It is a burden of gratitude I hold every day, to lead a people recovered from the edge of oblivion, and I toast to the eternal peace that we shall maintain for the generations to follow.

She raised her glass, the crystal catching the amber light of the chandeliers, and a chorus of agreement rose from the crowd like a wave. Erwin held his breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on his shoulders as he realized he had to participate in this charade, to echo the sentiment that denied the reality of the dead soldiers whose names had been scrubbed from history. He lifted his glass alongside the others, his hand steady despite the roiling turmoil beneath the surface, his heart heavy with the secret of the purge.

To the peace, everyone chanted in unison. The words hit the high ceiling and scattered, mixing with the festive music that began to swell as the formal portion of the evening transitioned into a night of celebration. Erwin’s throat felt dry as he took a sip of the drink, the liquid tasting of nothing but dust and forgotten promises. He felt disconnected, an actor on a stage he had built himself, watching the dancers swirl around him in a rhythmic pulse that felt increasingly alien.

Levi, meanwhile, had not joined in the toast, his glass remained untouched on a nearby sideboard, his gaze locked onto the crowd with the vigilance of a man who didn't know how to exist in a world without peril. He moved an inch closer to Erwin, his voice dropping low again, a sharp, gravelly whisper. There’s something bothering you more than just the crowd. You’ve been staring at the wall for the last five minutes like you expected a crack to appear in the stone.

Erwin didn't turn his head, his focus fixed on a flickering candle that struggled against the draft in the room. I suppose it is the nature of peace, Levi. It leaves too much time for contemplation, and the mind is an unreliable place to linger when you have seen what I have seen. He felt the cold iron of his own resolve, a barrier he could not break without shattering the very peace Historia had just toasted. He was the keeper of both the wall and the lie, and that realization brought with it a suffocating sense of finality.

I don’t like it when you get poetic, Erwin, Levi said, his voice hard but tinged with a flicker of genuine irritation. Poets are usually the first ones to lose their heads in a transition. We are soldiers, regardless of whether there is a fight or a banquet. We are meant to be standing, not wandering through our own memories of mistakes we’ve buried.

Erwin felt a bitter smile touch his lips for a fraction of a second before he smoothed it away. A soldier’s duty evolves, my friend. Perhaps some things are meant to be buried, and perhaps we are merely the custodians of the soil. He glanced at Historia again, watching her move through the room, greeting dignitaries with a warmth that felt brittle under the weight of his own hidden knowledge. She was the sunlight, and he was the shadow, a necessary duality.

He felt the walls of the hall closing in on him, the opulence no longer elegant but garish, the celebration a discordant noise. He had to breathe real, untainted air, to step outside of this artificial construct where every word felt like a lie and every toast felt like an insult to the ones who were no longer there to object. The silence between him and Levi stretched, filled only with the cacophony of the celebration and the rhythmic, hollow ticking of a nearby clock that marked every second of his continued, enforced duplicity.

He began to turn, his movements deliberate and slow, shifting his center of gravity toward the heavy oak doors that led to the corridor and the quiet beyond. Levi didn't follow immediately, but his eyes tracked the movement, a silent, predatory assessment that never truly turned off. The distance between Erwin and the exit felt like miles of open field, a stretch of ground he had to traverse without appearing to flee, maintaining the composure that the command expected of him even in his most desperate moments of internal fracture.

As he reached the edge of the circular table, he paused and looked back for a final time. Historia was laughing at some remark from an official, her laughter bright and genuine. It was a beautiful sight, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, Erwin wished he could strip the weight of the logbook from his soul and inhabit her ignorance, to believe, truly believe, in the purity of the peace they were celebrating. He realized then that he couldn't stop the truth from existing, but he could choose to stop it from poisoning the world they were trying to build.

He adjusted his cloak, the fabric heavy and familiar, and acknowledged a passing officer with a stiff, formal nod that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. The officer smiled, not seeing the man behind the uniform, only the legend, the commander who had brought them to this day. Erwin passed him by, his footsteps silent on the thick, decorative carpets, his mind already drifting to the next day’s reports, the next set of lies he would have to curate to protect the fragile order of their world.

Levi remained, his presence as consistent as the architecture, his gaze flickering from Historia to Erwin, back and forth, a silent, sharp-eyed sentry. Erwin reached the threshold, the air from the darkened corridor outside chilling the sweat on his brow. He didn't look back again, yet he could feel the weight of Levi’s eyes on his spine, a heavy, probing stare that seemed to pierce right through his uniform, through his skin, and into the very depths of the secret he carried.

He took a final, measured breath, the scent of the garden’s night air beginning to filter in. He stepped past the threshold of the banquet hall, the sound of the celebration muted by the solid wood to a low, droning hum. He excused himself from the table, his movements precise and disciplined even in his desire for isolation, while Levi Ackerman watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, tracking the departure as if he were waiting to see if Erwin would stumble or reveal a crack in his armor. «The Hollow Peace», part 2. Fanfiction — Attack on Titan.

The Hollow Celebration. The Hollow Peace — Attack on Titan fanfiction | Fanfica

The Hollow Celebration

Devote Your Hearts

Erwin Smith wakes in a world where the Survey Corps succeeded—titans wiped out, Wall Maria reclaimed. But he alone remembers the original timeline: the betrayals, the sacrifices, the darker path. Now he faces an impossible choice: reveal the truth and risk unleashing chaos, or protect a hard-won peace that feels painfully hollow. What is a victory worth if no one remembers the cost?

The Hollow Peace — The Hollow Celebration

Part 2: The Hollow Celebration