Who had the illustrious title of Founding Titan before our girl Ymir? A query so steeped in intrigue that it rivals the complexity of time travel plots.
So, is it ever explained? Well, no. And we’re not entirely sure it needs to be.
You see, Attack on Titan weaves a tale of cyclic violence, like a never-ending rollercoaster of chaos.
Ymir might have kickstarted the loop, or perhaps she was merely another cog in the grand wheel of titan-fueled drama.
The story emphasizes that humanity’s penchant for violence is practically hardwired into our DNA.
Titans, those colossal manifestations of hatred and brutality, are like the epitome of this perpetual cycle.
Think of them as the over-the-top embodiment of our worst impulses, with a side of monstrous flair.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting.
Some interpret the post-credit scenes as a harbinger of doom, showcasing a future war complete with bombs and all the calamities humankind is known for.
Titans or no titans, it seems violence is as embedded in our genes as our love for cat videos.
The treaty’s a success, Eldians like Reiner are living the mixed-life dream, but alas, generations later, war rears its ugly head.
However, this time, it’s not about fear or race; it’s a universal conflict. The child at the end, a descendant of Mikasa (probably), symbolizes the enduring bond, a tree of life surviving the storm of chaos.
Now, about that ruined city and society? Nuclear bombs, my friend.
The boy, strutting with his pipe walking stick, lives in a post-apocalyptic society, fashioned from survivors of the bombing. It’s like Mad Titan Max Beyond the Walls.
As for the Founding Titan title, it’s a time-traveling linguistic marvel.
Ymir gets dubbed the Founding Titan in her era of Attack on Titan.
Fast forward hundreds or thousands of years, and our pipe-wielding friend casually strolls into a tree, likely to be hailed as the Founding Titan in his era.
Now, the timeline here?
A century or two before the bombs went kaboom.
From 1910s tech to cyberpunk skyscrapers, and then, the bombs fall, society crumbles, and the boy emerges from the rubble.
We’re looking at 200-300 years since Eren’s exit stage left.
Some theorize it could be a thematic 2000 years, a nod to the first episode’s title.
But let’s be real, does it matter who held the Founding Titan before Ymir?
It’s a cosmic loop, a chain of titans passing the baton of chaos through the ages.
Titans could be humanity’s eternal Groundhog Day.
And here’s a wild thought: What if the boy isn’t finding the Titans inside the tree? What if it’s just Titan Sauce in Eren’s head working as a plant fertilizer, growing the tree without the hallucinogenic encore? Or, if you fancy a comeback tour, Titans could return. It’s a smorgasbord of possibilities, served with a side of ambiguity.
In the grand tapestry of Attack on Titan’s ending, whether Ymir kicked off the loop or just rode the titan wave, it all boils down to one undeniable truth: people are indeed stupid and violent. Learning from history? Nah, we’d rather perpetuate the same mistakes and enjoy the chaos. Titans or not, the show must go on!