Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 32

The effects of the serum lingered long after Eren left Azrael's chambers, an unsettling current of energy that thrummed through his body. Every sound seemed amplified, every shadow sharper. The world felt alive and hostile all at once, and he could sense his own heartbeat echoing like war drums in his chest.

As he walked through the silent corridors, he felt a new clarity. The old questions, the twinges of hesitation—they had melted away, replaced by a cold, driving certainty. Azrael had given him power, but he'd also bound him to a purpose far darker than he'd anticipated.

When he finally reached his quarters, Nera was waiting. Her gaze flicked to him, lingering on his altered expression, the strange glint in his eyes. She didn't say anything at first, only watched him, her expression unreadable.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Eren met her gaze, feeling the warmth of her concern—an unsettling contrast to the hollow darkness within him. "I've accepted Azrael's offer. I'm his Shadow now."

Nera's face twisted with a mix of horror and disbelief. "Eren, you can't seriously mean that. You know what that role entails. Azrael's Shadows aren't just assassins—they're tools, bound to his will, stripped of all freedom."

Eren's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Freedom? That's a luxury, Nera. One I no longer have."

She took a step forward, her voice trembling. "But you do have a choice, Eren. You don't have to go down this path. There's still a way out, a way to stay... yourself."

He felt a flicker of the old pain, the whisper of his former self struggling to resurface. But it was faint, buried beneath the cold certainty Azrael had instilled in him. "Myself?" He scoffed, crossing his arms. "That person is dead. This is who I am now, Nera. And I suggest you accept it."

Her face fell, the hope in her eyes dimming. "Then you're truly lost."

Eren didn't respond. He watched her turn away, leaving him once more, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Part of him felt the loss, a painful ache gnawing at his chest. But he forced it down, burying it beneath the callous resolve that now defined him.

---

The Following Night

Eren stood alone in the cold darkness, waiting. Azrael had sent a message summoning him to an undisclosed location within the castle grounds. The air was thick with mist, veiling the world in shadows as he waited, his senses honed, his muscles coiled with the remnants of the serum's lingering power.

Suddenly, Azrael appeared from the fog, his form barely visible in the low light. He moved with an eerie silence, his expression cold and predatory.

"Are you ready?" Azrael asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Eren nodded, swallowing the last vestiges of doubt. "Tell me what needs to be done."

Azrael's eyes gleamed with approval. "There's a faction within the Council—a group who believes you're too dangerous, who would rather see you removed than rise through our ranks. I need you to send them a message."

He produced a small, ornate dagger, its blade curved and gleaming with a faint, unnatural light. "This blade is laced with a slow-acting poison. It will not kill immediately, but it will ensure their suffering—a fitting reminder of the consequences of defiance."

Eren took the dagger, feeling its weight in his hand, the chill of its power seeping into his skin. "And who's the target?"

Azrael's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Councilor Voss. He's a coward at heart, hiding behind others to execute his will. Killing him will send a message to the rest."

A flicker of doubt crossed Eren's mind, a faint echo of his old conscience stirring. But he silenced it. He'd committed himself to this path, and there was no room for hesitation.

---

Later That Night

The manor was quiet as Eren slipped into the shadows, his movements silent, his presence unnoticed. He'd studied Voss's habits, knew the routes the councilor took through his home each night, the guards' rotations, the places where his target would be most vulnerable.

Moving through the empty halls, Eren found his way to Voss's private study. Inside, the councilor was hunched over his desk, engrossed in a pile of documents, his face illuminated by the faint glow of candlelight.

Eren stepped forward, his movements like a shadow, silent and fluid. The dagger gleamed in his hand as he closed the distance, his heart steady, his mind clear. Voss looked up, his eyes widening in fear as he caught sight of the weapon.

"Wait—!" Voss's voice was a strangled whisper, but Eren's blade was already moving, cutting through the air with deadly precision.

The poison took hold immediately, and Voss crumpled to the ground, his body convulsing as the toxin seeped into his veins. Eren watched, his expression cold, his heart numb. This was his life now—an unflinching instrument of Azrael's will, a blade in the dark.

As he turned to leave, he felt a faint pang of regret, a reminder of the person he'd once been. But he pushed it down, burying it beneath the weight of his new purpose.

In the end, survival had cost him more than he could have ever imagined. But it was a price he was willing to pay.