Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 4

A sharp knock pulled Eren from his fitful sleep, and he sat up, still caught between the haze of dreams and the cold reality of Rothvale's inn. Dawn had barely touched the sky, yet the light was harsh, unforgiving, casting long shadows across the cracked walls. Eren blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind, his muscles aching from the night's ordeal.

The knock sounded again, harder this time.

"Open up, mage," came the driver's gruff voice from the other side. "Time to move."

Eren swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his fingers automatically moving to the dagger he'd kept beside him. The weight of it felt more familiar than he wanted to admit, a reminder of what he'd done—and what he might have to do again.

The door creaked open, revealing the driver leaning against the frame, his gaze steady and unreadable. "You slept in your cloak?" he asked, eyeing the rumpled fabric that Eren had clung to through the night.

Eren managed a weak smile. "Didn't think it'd be wise to let my guard down."

The driver chuckled, low and dry. "Smart. You learn fast. But out here, you'll need more than that."

Eren stood, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. The driver had already turned, heading back down the narrow hall, his boots heavy against the worn wooden floor. Eren followed him into the main room of the inn, where the innkeeper watched them with a wary eye. She gave a quick, tight nod as they passed, her gaze lingering on Eren, but she said nothing.

Outside, Rothvale was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of a waking town muted under the thick, gray clouds. The driver led him toward the outskirts, where the muddy path wound into the dense forest beyond.

"You've been quiet," the driver said, his tone almost casual. "Most mages I know wouldn't shut up about what happened last night."

Eren glanced at him, hesitating. "What would you expect me to say?"

The driver shrugged, eyes fixed ahead. "Most would be cursing the bandits. Swearing revenge. Or, at the very least, questioning why they're even here." He looked at Eren, his gaze sharp. "You, on the other hand, look like you're already planning your next move."

Eren looked away, his jaw tightening. Planning felt like a strong word for the churning thoughts in his mind, the half-formed ideas and scattered resolve. He couldn't stop picturing the man he'd killed, the cold finality of it, and yet...he hadn't hesitated. Not when it had mattered.

"Survival first," he muttered, more to himself than to the driver. "I can't afford to be weak here."

The driver's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Well, remember that. In Ezura, weakness is a death sentence."

The path wound deeper into the forest, and soon, they came to a small clearing where a few other travelers waited, huddled together and whispering in low voices. They all turned as Eren and the driver approached, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Eren felt their scrutiny like a weight pressing down on him, but he kept his face impassive, refusing to show any sign of doubt.

The driver raised a hand, his voice carrying over the quiet. "Listen up! This is Eren, an apprentice mage. You'll follow his lead if things go south. He's not just here for show." The driver's words carried an edge, a warning that none of the travelers missed. They glanced at Eren, sizing him up, and he forced himself to hold their gaze.

One of them, a grizzled man with a scar running down his cheek, snorted. "Apprentice, huh? And what's he supposed to do if we're ambushed again? Wave his hands and hope for a miracle?"

The driver's eyes narrowed, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade. "You saw what he did last night. If you're still breathing, it's thanks to him."

The man scoffed, looking away, but he didn't argue further. Eren felt a strange mix of unease and satisfaction at the driver's words. He hadn't asked for this kind of attention, but if it meant keeping the others at bay, maybe it was a necessary burden.

They moved in silence, the group tense and wary as they made their way deeper into the forest. The canopy above was dense, casting long shadows that flickered with every gust of wind. Eren kept his senses alert, every rustle of leaves, every snap of a branch sending his heart racing. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, a constant reminder of how close danger lingered.

Hours passed, the silence broken only by the occasional grunt or muttered curse. As they neared a rocky pass, the driver motioned for them to stop, his hand raised in a signal for silence. Eren's pulse quickened, his fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger.

The driver leaned close, his voice barely a whisper. "Bandit camp up ahead. We can skirt around it if we're careful. Or"—his gaze flicked to Eren—"we can clear it out. Make the roads a little safer for those who come after."

Eren hesitated, his mind racing. The thought of confrontation made his stomach knot, but the idea of turning away, of letting these bandits continue their attacks, stirred something dark within him. The weight of his own choices pressed down on him, the knowledge that here, every decision had consequences.

"Will they come after us if we pass through?" he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

"Maybe, maybe not. But leaving them here means they'll still be preying on people like us," the driver replied, his gaze hard. "Your call, mage."

The group watched him, their faces tense and uncertain. Eren clenched his fists, his jaw set. Survival first—he had to remember that. But survival, he realized, didn't mean turning his back on everything.

"Let's clear it out," he said, the words slipping out with a cold determination he barely recognized. "They won't hurt anyone else."

The driver nodded, a faint, approving smile flickering across his face. Without another word, he signaled for the others to follow, their movements careful and precise as they crept toward the bandit camp.

The camp was nothing more than a scattering of tents and a few makeshift barricades, a rough shelter built into the rocky outcrop. Eren could make out the shapes of figures moving between the tents, their laughter and voices carrying through the trees.

The driver leaned close, his voice a low murmur. "Follow my lead. Don't hesitate."

Eren nodded, his grip tightening on his dagger. He felt the hum of mana within him, a barely-contained energy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The memory of his first kill flashed through his mind, the cold finality of it. This time, he wouldn't falter.

The driver was the first to strike, his blade a flash of silver as he plunged it into the neck of the nearest bandit. The man's body slumped to the ground without a sound, and in that instant, chaos erupted. The other bandits shouted, scrambling for weapons as Eren and the others closed in.

Eren moved on instinct, his hands tracing the shapes of spells, his mana flaring to life. A crackling bolt of energy shot from his fingertips, striking a bandit square in the chest. The man staggered, his scream cut short as he collapsed.

There was no room for mercy here, no time to second-guess. Eren moved with a cold, ruthless efficiency, each strike calculated, each spell honed. The fear and hesitation he'd felt before had melted away, replaced by a grim resolve that felt disturbingly natural.

Within moments, the camp was silent, the bandits lying sprawled in the dirt, their bodies still and lifeless. Eren stood in the aftermath, his chest heaving, his fingers still tingling with the residual energy of his spells.

The driver clapped him on the shoulder, a brief, approving nod. "Not bad for an apprentice. You've got the instincts for this."

Eren forced a tight smile, but inside, a hollow ache twisted through him. He'd chosen this path—chosen to fight, to kill. But as he looked down at the bodies, he couldn't shake the feeling that with every strike, every spell, he was losing a piece of himself.

The driver's voice cut through his thoughts, low and calm. "There's no room for heroes here, Eren. Remember that."

Eren nodded, swallowing hard. He knew that already. But the cost of that knowledge... it was a weight he wasn't sure he'd ever be free of.

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