The following days brought an uneasy rhythm. Eren stayed sharp, listening to whispers in taverns, lurking in shadows, gathering every crumb of information he could about the council's next moves. His days became a series of small steps, careful and deliberate, each one bringing him closer to the council's center without ever exposing himself.
The nights, however, were different.
Niall's rebellion wasn't bound by mercy or hesitation. Eren found himself learning methods he'd never considered—how to slip past patrols unseen, how to pick locks in silence, and, when necessary, how to wield a blade with intent. It was brutal training, but it hardened him, stripping away layers of naivety that had once kept him hesitant. The world around him grew sharper, more vivid in its darkness.
One evening, as he crept through the shadows beside Niall, he felt the man's calculating gaze on him.
"You're learning fast," Niall murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "But skill alone isn't enough, Eren. There's one test that matters above all else: loyalty."
Eren tightened his grip on the dagger at his side, feeling the chill of its handle through his glove. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't committed."
Niall's smirk was almost imperceptible. "Commitment can be a passing thing. Circumstances change, and so do loyalties. Tell me, if the council offered you a way back into the life you lost—a life of comfort, of safety—would you take it?"
The question lodged itself in Eren's mind like a splinter. He could see his old life as clearly as if he were holding it in his hands—the warmth, the simplicity. But the reality of Ezura was sharper, colder. That life no longer fit him.
"No," he answered, his voice steady. "I'm not the same person I was."
Niall's gaze lingered on him, scrutinizing, and then he nodded, seeming satisfied—for the moment.
---
By the end of that week, the rebellion had a target: a small council outpost on the outskirts of the city. It was a relatively minor position, but it held valuable documents—records that could reveal the council's patterns, exposing their supply lines and surveillance routes. Taking it down would be a small but significant blow.
The night of the raid, Eren's senses were honed to a razor edge. He moved alongside Alista, Niall, and a handful of others, each of them cloaked in dark robes that blurred their shapes into shadows. The night was thick with fog, their footsteps muffled by the damp earth beneath them.
They reached the outpost without incident, the structure looming like a blackened tower against the night sky. Two guards stood by the entrance, their posture bored, unaware of the danger creeping toward them.
Eren exchanged a glance with Alista, who nodded, and he moved into position. In a swift, fluid motion, he took down the first guard, his dagger finding the man's neck with practiced ease. Alista silenced the second guard with equal efficiency. They slipped into the outpost, the heavy door closing behind them with a soft thud.
Inside, the air was stale, filled with the smell of old parchment and burning wax. Eren led the way, navigating through narrow hallways lined with rows of shelves, each one overflowing with documents and scrolls. The rest of the group spread out, moving with careful precision, each person searching for anything of value.
Eren reached a small room tucked at the end of the hall, a single candle illuminating stacks of ledgers on the desk. He skimmed through them, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the insignia of the council stamped on each page. Supplies, patrol routes, schedules—exactly what they needed.
He gathered the ledgers, tucking them into his cloak. But just as he turned to leave, the faint creak of a floorboard behind him caught his attention. He spun around, his dagger drawn, and found himself face-to-face with a young guard, no older than himself. The guard's eyes went wide, his hands fumbling for the hilt of his own blade.
They stared at each other, the silence thick with tension.
"Please... I have no part in this," the guard stammered, his voice a shaky whisper. "I... I only joined for the money."
Eren's grip on his dagger tightened, his mind racing. The guard posed no immediate threat, his fear plain, his intentions clear. In another life, Eren might have spared him, might have let him flee.
But this wasn't that life. And hesitation now could risk everything.
The blade moved before he fully processed the decision. A swift, clean strike, and the guard crumpled, his eyes wide in shock, a tremor running through his frame before he went still. Eren stared down at the lifeless form, his chest heavy, a faint prickle of something he couldn't name tightening in his throat.
He didn't let himself linger. He turned, retracing his steps, rejoining the others as they slipped back into the night.
---
They regrouped at a safehouse, a small, dimly lit room hidden beneath an abandoned inn. Alista and Niall sorted through the ledgers, their expressions grim but focused. The others moved about in silence, the weight of what they'd done hanging in the air.
Eren sat apart from the group, his mind replaying the night's events, the guard's face flashing through his thoughts with unnerving clarity. He'd killed before, but this felt different—closer, more personal. The guard's last words echoed in his ears, a quiet plea that lingered like an unwanted ghost.
"Second thoughts?" Alista's voice cut through his reverie, and he looked up to find her watching him, her expression unreadable.
"No," he replied, his voice steady, though the faint shadow of doubt lingered beneath it. "I knew what I was getting into."
She nodded, her gaze sharpening. "Good. Regret won't get you far in this world."
He managed a small nod, feeling the cold finality of her words sink into him. She was right. Regret was a luxury he couldn't afford. In this world, survival demanded choices he'd never considered, and there was no room for weakness.
But as the night wore on, and the others settled into a tense quiet, he found himself unable to shake the image of the guard's face, the hollow ache that lingered in his chest.
Ezura demanded sacrifices, and he'd given them willingly. But as he sat alone in the shadows, a single thought took root in his mind, unbidden and unwelcome.
How many pieces of himself could he lose before he became something unrecognizable?
YOU ARE READING
Glass Heart Syndrome
Fantasy[Content Warning: Dark themes, violence, psychological manipulation] ❝Being kind in a cruel world is like bringing a flower to a knife fight.❞ Eren Valen died on Earth believing in the good in people. Too bad his second chance at life didn't come wi...
