Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 30

The night wore on, heavy with the lingering echo of the fallen sorcerer's final words. Eren returned to his quarters, a numbness settling over him, pressing against his thoughts like a weight. As he leaned against the cold stone wall, he realized he hadn't felt truly alive in a long time—only driven by necessity, by survival, by this cold and unyielding hunger for power.

But tonight, something about the sorcerer's words gnawed at him. He'd fought to become someone who couldn't be broken, someone beyond pain, but now he felt a fissure widening inside him. Azrael's indifference, the Council's betrayal, Nera's disappointment—it all piled up, forming cracks in the armor he'd built so carefully around himself.

The door creaked open, breaking the silence. Eren tensed, but it was only Nera, her figure barely visible in the faint glow from the hall.

"I heard what happened," she said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She looked at him, her eyes tired, as if she, too, was carrying a burden she couldn't shake.

He forced a smirk, a facade he wore like a second skin. "Come to lecture me again?"

Her gaze softened, and she shook her head. "No. I came to make sure you're still... in there. Sometimes I wonder if the Eren I knew has vanished completely."

Eren's jaw tightened. "That Eren didn't survive. I did what I had to do."

She let the silence settle for a moment before replying, "But at what cost?"

He looked away, unwilling to answer. The truth was, he didn't know the cost himself. And it terrified him to think he might never know until it was too late.

Nera took a step closer. "I don't believe you're as far gone as you think, Eren. I know there's a part of you that still questions this path."

He clenched his fists, the walls he'd built around himself straining under the pressure of her words. "Questioning things only leads to weakness."

Her eyes flickered with sadness. "Strength without purpose is hollow, Eren. And you're better than that."

For a moment, he almost let his guard down, almost let her words sink in. But then he remembered the price he'd paid to be here—the blood, the betrayals, the relentless push to survive. He couldn't afford doubt. Not now.

"You don't know me anymore, Nera," he said, his voice cold. "Stop trying to save someone who's already dead."

A pained expression crossed her face, but she held her ground. "Maybe you're right. But I'll keep hoping you'll see the truth before it's too late."

She turned to leave, and the emptiness he felt deepened as he watched her walk out, her figure swallowed by the darkness. He told himself he didn't need her hope, didn't need anything but the power he'd fought so hard to claim. But her words, her sadness—they lingered, haunting him like ghosts he couldn't shake.

---

The Next Morning

Eren sat alone, the dawn casting pale light through his window. He hadn't slept, his mind churning with fragments of doubts and fears he'd suppressed for so long. He knew he should be preparing for the next move, the next battle, but something about last night left him restless, distracted.

A letter slid under his door, snapping him out of his reverie. He picked it up, breaking the seal to find Azrael's bold, unyielding handwriting.

Eren, your actions last night did not go unnoticed. Meet me at dusk. There is much to discuss.

The words were sparse, yet loaded with meaning. Eren felt a strange mixture of anticipation and unease. This was a chance to cement his position further, to prove himself to Azrael, to rise in the ranks. But the hollow feeling persisted, gnawing at him, as though warning him that each step forward was another step away from who he used to be.

As the sun rose, Eren steeled himself. He pushed Nera's words, the sorcerer's warning, and his own doubts to the back of his mind. He had chosen this path, and he couldn't afford to waver now.

Whatever awaited him with Azrael, he would face it without hesitation.