Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 10

Eren woke early, the memory of last night's conversation a dull ache in his mind. He went through the motions: washing, dressing, and checking his gear. Every movement was mechanical, each action a quiet affirmation of the path he'd chosen, even as unease twisted in his gut.

He stepped outside, the morning air sharp against his skin. The town was quieter in these early hours, only a few merchants beginning to set up their stalls, the cobbled streets almost empty. The old district lay on the far side, a cluster of narrow, winding streets and hidden alleys where light rarely touched and where his target, Rhyen, was supposedly hiding.

Eren's hand tightened on the strap of his bag as he walked, the anticipation clawing at him, a restless energy he couldn't ignore. He could feel eyes on him, too—watchful and calculating, waiting to see if he would succeed or fail. A silent test he couldn't afford to fail.

As he entered the old district, the atmosphere shifted. The buildings loomed closer, their stone walls dark and worn, the alleyways narrow and twisting like a labyrinth. This part of town was a maze, built for those who knew how to move unseen, a perfect hiding spot for someone on the run.

The first few hours yielded nothing. Eren slipped through shadowed alleys, watching faces, listening to snippets of conversation, following any lead he could find. Every corner seemed to hold a dead end, every shadow stretched long with anticipation, but no sign of Rhyen.

He was beginning to wonder if he'd been set up, if this was a test not of loyalty but of endurance, of how far he'd go to prove himself. He was about to turn back when he noticed a figure slip into an alleyway just ahead, moving with the cautious, darting pace of someone who didn't want to be seen.

Eren's instincts flared, and he followed.

The man moved quickly, weaving through the narrow alleys with practiced ease. Eren kept his distance, matching his pace, his eyes sharp as he watched for any sign of recognition. The chase continued through twisting turns and cramped corridors, the walls closing in around them.

Finally, they reached a small, abandoned square, hemmed in by crumbling buildings. The man stopped, glancing around, and Eren saw his face clearly for the first time—thin, pale, with eyes that darted nervously, as if he could feel the noose tightening around him.

"Rhyen," Eren called out, his voice low and steady.

The man turned, his expression shifting from surprise to fear in an instant. He took a step back, his hand reaching for something hidden beneath his cloak. Eren tensed, his own hand moving to the hilt of his dagger, every muscle coiled and ready.

"Who are you?" Rhyen's voice was rough, laced with desperation. "What do you want?"

"Does it matter?" Eren replied, his tone cold. He could feel the weight of the mission pressing down on him, the memory of the woman's words lingering in his mind. This was his chance to prove himself, to show that he was more than just an outsider.

Rhyen's gaze flicked around the square, searching for a way out. But there was nowhere to run. The only way out was through Eren.

"Look," Rhyen said, his voice dropping to a pleading tone, "I don't know who sent you, but you don't have to do this. I haven't done anything wrong. I'm just... just trying to survive, like anyone else."

Eren felt a flicker of doubt, but he forced it down, his grip tightening on his weapon. He'd made his choice; he couldn't afford second thoughts now. "Survival has its costs. You should know that better than anyone."

Rhyen's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "You don't know a thing about me."

Eren stepped forward, his stance unyielding. "I know enough. And I know there are people who want you gone. That's all that matters."

For a moment, they stood in silence, each one sizing up the other, the tension between them thick as smoke. Then, without warning, Rhyen lunged, a dagger flashing in his hand as he moved with surprising speed.

Eren sidestepped, his reflexes kicking in as he brought his own weapon up, deflecting the blow. Their blades clashed, the sound sharp and grating in the stillness of the square. Rhyen pressed forward, his movements wild, driven by fear and desperation.

But Eren was calm, his movements precise, controlled. He blocked Rhyen's attacks, each one weaker than the last as the man's desperation turned to panic. Eren could feel the shift, the moment when Rhyen's confidence crumbled, leaving him vulnerable.

With a swift movement, Eren knocked the dagger from Rhyen's hand, sending it skittering across the cobblestones. Rhyen stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with terror.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

Eren hesitated, a sliver of doubt worming its way into his mind. He thought of the life he'd left behind, of the person he used to be. There was a time when he would have balked at the thought of taking a life, when mercy had seemed more natural than cruelty.

But that person was gone.

He stepped forward, his gaze hardening as he looked down at Rhyen. "Mercy doesn't exist in this world," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "You taught me that."

And with a single, calculated strike, he ended it.

Rhyen crumpled to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring up at the darkening sky. Eren looked down at the body, feeling a numbness settle over him, a hollow ache that seemed to spread through his chest.

He turned away, his mind already locking away the memory, burying it beneath layers of resolve. This was who he had to become—a man willing to do whatever it took to survive, to prove himself. There was no room for regret, no place for weakness.

As he walked away from the square, his footsteps echoing in the silence, he felt a weight lift, a strange sense of clarity settling over him. This was the path he'd chosen, and there was no turning back.

But as he left the body behind, he couldn't shake the lingering feeling that, with every step he took, he was leaving another piece of himself behind, fragments of the person he used to be scattered like ashes in the wind.

And for the first time, he wondered just how much of himself would be left when he reached the end of this path.