Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 3

The town of Rothvale was nothing like Eren had pictured. The small settlement seemed to slump against the edges of the forest, its wooden shacks leaning as if ready to collapse under the weight of the gloom. Narrow alleys twisted between crooked buildings, where shadows lingered even in the fading daylight. Rothvale felt trapped in a perpetual dusk, the sky thick with gray clouds that never seemed to break.

Eren walked slowly through the muddy streets, his mind still reeling from the encounter in the woods. His cloak was damp, the fabric clinging to him with a chill that seeped through to his bones. He could still feel the slickness of blood on his hands, the weight of the dagger. He'd done what he had to; he knew that. But the echoes of that decision gnawed at him, a relentless ache in his chest.

"You coming?" the driver grunted, glancing back over his shoulder. He had already pocketed his pay and was halfway up the path to a small inn. Eren nodded and followed, his steps slow and unsteady.

Inside, the inn was cramped and dim, the air thick with the scent of smoke and damp wood. A few patrons sat scattered around the room, faces half-hidden by hoods and the flickering light of the fire. They barely glanced up as Eren entered, though he felt their eyes linger a second too long on his bloodstained cloak. He quickly pulled it tighter, hiding the worst of it, and moved to the corner of the room where the driver was haggling for rooms with the innkeeper.

"One room. For me," the driver said, his tone flat as he slid a coin across the counter. He glanced at Eren, eyebrow raised. "What about you, mage?"

Eren's hand drifted to his pouch, feeling the weight of his last few coins. He hesitated. After tonight, he wouldn't have enough left for supplies, let alone a roof over his head. But the idea of wandering the streets—exposed, vulnerable—felt like tempting fate.

"Same," he murmured, passing his own coin to the innkeeper. The woman's gaze drifted over him, eyes sharp as a hawk's. She said nothing, only gave a quick nod before shuffling off to fetch the keys.

Eren slumped onto a rickety bench near the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. The warmth seeped into his fingers, chasing away the numbness that had settled in his bones. His gaze drifted to the people around him—mercenaries, most of them, judging by the scars and heavy weapons strapped to their backs. Hardened faces, grim and watchful, every one of them marked by the harshness of life in Ezura.

This wasn't what he'd imagined. In his dreams, he'd pictured towns filled with friendly faces, mages practicing openly, their robes adorned with symbols of peace. Instead, he found himself in a place where trust was as scarce as warmth, where every person looked ready to turn on him if the price was right.

The driver sat across from him, nursing a mug of ale. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his tone dry.

Eren forced a tight smile. "I... wasn't expecting all of this. The danger, the..." He trailed off, his words swallowed by the weight of his thoughts.

The driver shrugged, taking a long swig. "Ezura doesn't care what you expect, mage. You're here now, and that means the rules have changed."

Eren lowered his gaze, his fingers twitching against the rough wood of the table. He thought of the bandits, of the man he'd struck down with the dagger. The words of his old instructors echoed in his mind—words about mercy, about restraint. But those words felt hollow here, in this place where survival outweighed morality.

He swallowed, forcing himself to look up. "Why did you help me back there? You could've just taken the cart and left."

The driver studied him for a moment, a shadow passing over his face. "There's no virtue in leaving someone to die. Doesn't matter if you're a mage or a fool with a death wish. Sometimes, kindness is the only thing separating us from them."

Kindness. The word hung between them, an unfamiliar weight. Eren clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. If kindness had nearly gotten him killed, what good was it here? He couldn't afford to be weak, to rely on some ideal that could be shattered with a single blade.

As if sensing his thoughts, the driver gave a dry chuckle. "But don't think kindness will save you, boy. Out here, it's a luxury. One that most of us can't afford."

The innkeeper returned, handing them each a key. Eren accepted his, feeling the rough metal in his hand. He rose, moving toward the stairs that led to his room, but paused when the driver spoke again.

"Get some rest, mage," he said, his gaze fixed on the fire. "The real battles start tomorrow."

Eren didn't reply. Instead, he climbed the stairs, each step a reminder of how heavy his body felt, of the toll tonight's events had taken on him. The room was small and bare, a single bed against the wall, a cracked window that looked out onto the desolate street below. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it as he let out a shaky breath.

The quiet wrapped around him, pressing in with a weight that felt almost suffocating. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands still trembling as he stared at the floor. The images of the fight replayed in his mind—the flicker of mana, the flash of steel, the man's lifeless eyes. His fingers drifted to the dagger at his belt, feeling the cold metal against his skin.

He'd survived, yes. But at what cost?

A faint sound drifted up from the street below, a low murmur that cut through the stillness. He moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside to see a small group gathered near a firepit. The townsfolk huddled close, their faces worn and tired, their voices hushed as they shared scraps of food and warmth.

One of them—a young girl, no older than twelve—looked up, her gaze catching Eren's through the cracked glass. She offered a small, hesitant smile, a gesture so simple and unguarded that it caught him off guard. Eren's breath hitched, a flicker of something warm stirring in his chest.

He stepped back from the window, closing the curtain. The smile haunted him, a quiet reminder of what he'd once believed in, of the ideals he'd carried into this world. But tonight had shown him the reality of Ezura. Here, kindness came with a cost, and survival demanded more than ideals.

As he lay down on the stiff mattress, his thoughts drifted back to the bandits, to the dagger in his hand. He'd crossed a line tonight, one he couldn't uncross. And in that darkness, he wondered what he would have to sacrifice next.

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