Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 28

Eren returned to the tower just before dawn, the blood still fresh on his hands. He moved through the silent corridors, careful not to leave any trace, his heartbeat steady, his mind clear. The Council of Elders was no more, and with their absence, Azrael's grip on Ezura would only tighten.

But as he washed away the last remnants of blood, Eren felt a strange hollowness settle in his chest. For all his resolve, for all the power he'd acquired, there was something about that silence—about the way the Elders had crumpled so easily under his blade—that left him feeling more like a specter than a conqueror.

He had become something he once despised, and yet, he couldn't summon even a trace of remorse.

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Later, Eren sat alone in the dim light of his quarters, his gaze fixed on the small flame flickering on the candle before him. He could still feel the weight of Azrael's orders, the praise barely concealed beneath his cold instructions. It should have been satisfying, knowing he'd proven his loyalty once again, that he'd secured his place beside Ezura's most feared sorcerer. But the sense of accomplishment was hollow, a fragile shell that shattered the moment he was left alone.

A knock on his door snapped him from his thoughts. He opened it to find Nera standing there, her usual defiance replaced by something softer, almost hesitant.

"Can I come in?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eren nodded, stepping aside. Nera slipped inside, her eyes sweeping over the room before settling on him. She held a small vial, its contents swirling with a dark, shimmering liquid.

"You did it, didn't you?" she asked, her gaze searching his face.

Eren's expression remained unreadable. "What do you think?"

Nera's hand clenched around the vial. "I don't know what to think anymore. I thought I knew who you were, but... this isn't the Eren I remember."

He felt a flicker of something at her words, an old, buried part of himself stirring. "The Eren you remember is gone, Nera. He had to be."

"Did he?" Her voice cracked, and she looked away, struggling to maintain her composure. "Or did you let him go because it was easier than fighting?"

Eren's jaw tightened. "What do you know about fighting, Nera? You've spent your life safe behind these walls, protected by people who would die for you. I've had to make choices—choices you can't even begin to understand."

"Maybe I don't understand," she whispered. "But I do know that the Eren I met wouldn't have turned his back on himself like this. He wouldn't have let someone else decide his fate."

He felt anger flare within him, but it was laced with something deeper, something raw and painful. "And what would you have me do, Nera? Stand by and let this world break me? Let it grind me down until there's nothing left?"

"Maybe," she replied softly. "Maybe you have to let yourself be broken to find out who you really are."

Eren stared at her, the words sinking in, striking at something he'd tried so hard to bury. For a moment, he saw himself as he once was—a man with ideals, a man who believed in something beyond power. But that man had died a long time ago, crushed beneath the weight of betrayal and survival.

He forced the thought away, his gaze hardening. "You don't understand, Nera. You never will."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness he couldn't quite bear to face. "Maybe not. But I hope that someday, you'll see what you've become—and that it's not too late to turn back."

Without another word, she turned and left, the door closing softly behind her.

Eren was left alone once more, the darkness closing in around him. Her words echoed in his mind, a quiet, insistent voice that refused to be silenced.