Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 33

The following days passed in a haze of blood and silence. Councilor Voss's death sent ripples through the upper echelons of power, a reminder that no one was safe from Azrael's reach. Fear gripped the Council, murmurs of dissent quashed before they could take root, and those who dared question Eren's growing influence quickly fell into line.

For Eren, life became a series of assignments, each one more ruthless than the last. Azrael held him to a punishing schedule, dispatching him to eliminate threats, silence informants, and intimidate those who dared question the Shadow Lord's authority. The thrill of his power had faded, replaced by a grim acceptance—a hollow routine of survival.

But in the dead of night, when he returned to his quarters alone, remnants of his old self stirred beneath the surface. Ghostly fragments of memories—a young apprentice mage who dreamed of changing the world, who believed in kindness and hope—haunted him like shadows clinging to his skin.

One night, as he sat alone, staring at his blood-stained hands, a soft knock on the door broke the silence. He froze, every muscle tense, ready to strike.

"Come in."

The door opened slowly, and Nera stepped inside, her face pale, her eyes unreadable. She glanced at the room, the dim candlelight casting flickering shadows across the walls. When her gaze settled on Eren, her expression softened, but only slightly.

"Eren, we need to talk," she said quietly, closing the door behind her.

He met her gaze, his eyes cold and distant. "If you're here to lecture me about the choices I've made, save it."

She shook her head, stepping closer. "It's not that. I... I'm worried about you. This path you're on—it's consuming you."

A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Consuming me? No, Nera. It's giving me strength. Power. I'm finally free of those childish illusions, that pathetic weakness."

Her expression hardened, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes. "Power? This isn't power, Eren. It's servitude. Azrael owns you now—every choice, every breath. You're becoming a tool, nothing more."

He felt his fists clench, but forced himself to remain calm. "I've made my decision. Azrael's promises may be dark, but at least they're real."

"Real?" Her voice dropped, filled with an edge of sadness. "Eren, what happened to the boy who believed in hope, who wanted to make the world a better place?"

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. That boy was gone, buried beneath layers of bitterness and anger. But as she stood there, staring at him with that painful mixture of pity and regret, he felt a crack in his resolve—a tiny fracture, a whisper of doubt.

But he quickly silenced it, his face hardening once more. "That boy was a fool. He was weak. This is who I am now."

Nera's shoulders slumped, her expression shifting to one of resignation. She took a step back, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then I guess I really have lost you."

She turned and left, the door closing softly behind her. Eren remained standing in the darkness, his heart a tumult of anger and regret. He wanted to believe that he was in control, that his choices were his own. But as he stared at the door where Nera had stood, a hollow ache filled his chest—a reminder that even power had its cost.

---

The Day After

Eren's duties resumed with ruthless precision. Azrael assigned him a new target: Councilor Lysandra, an outspoken critic of the Shadow Lord's growing influence. The councilor had been stirring discontent among the nobility, and her actions threatened to destabilize Azrael's careful plans.

This time, however, Eren's orders were more complex. Azrael wanted Lysandra subdued, not killed. She was to be "persuaded" to cease her resistance, to understand the futility of defying him.

Eren entered the Council's chambers under the guise of an advisor, cloaked in shadows and deception. Lysandra sat at her desk, poring over a stack of documents, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She looked up as he approached, her gaze narrowing as recognition dawned.

"Eren," she greeted, her voice laced with distrust. "To what do I owe this honor?"

He offered a polite bow, masking the chill in his eyes. "Councilor Lysandra. I bring a message from Lord Azrael."

She crossed her arms, studying him with an arched brow. "And what might that be?"

Without breaking eye contact, he stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. "Azrael knows about your plans. He knows you've been conspiring with others to undermine his authority."

Her expression didn't waver, but he could see the faintest flicker of unease in her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." He leaned closer, his voice dripping with menace. "You're not as hidden as you think, Lysandra. Azrael's reach extends far beyond this Council. If you value your life, you'll stop your scheming immediately."

She met his gaze, defiant despite the tension in her shoulders. "So, this is what you've become, Eren? A shadow, dancing to Azrael's tune? I thought you had more spine than that."

Her words struck deeper than he cared to admit, but he forced himself to remain unmoved. "Call it what you want. Survival demands loyalty. And if you continue down this path, I can't guarantee yours."

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then looked away, resignation settling over her features. "Fine. I'll cease my actions. But know this, Eren—no power lasts forever. Azrael's rule is a storm, and storms always pass. You're nothing more than a pawn in his game, and when he's done with you, he'll discard you like all the others."

He felt a pang of doubt, but quickly buried it. Turning on his heel, he left the room, the councilor's words echoing in his mind. Each step felt heavier, a reminder that even as he rose in power, he was bound by invisible chains.

---

That Night

The corridors of the castle stretched out before him, endless and suffocating. He wandered aimlessly, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. Azrael's words, Nera's pleas, Lysandra's defiance—all of them gnawed at him, tearing at the edges of the armor he'd built around himself.

As he reached the castle's rooftop, he looked out over the darkened city below, the lights flickering like stars against the night. In that quiet moment, he felt a strange, unwelcome sensation—regret.

Was this really what he wanted? Had he truly abandoned everything he'd once believed in?

But before he could dwell on it further, the sound of footsteps behind him broke the silence. He turned to find Azrael, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

"Eren," Azrael said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I sense hesitation. Are you questioning your loyalty?"

Eren quickly masked his doubts, meeting Azrael's gaze with hardened resolve. "No, my lord. I'm fully committed."

Azrael's gaze lingered, as if searching for the truth in his eyes. Then he nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good. Because there's another assignment—a task that will test your loyalty in ways you've yet to imagine."

Eren swallowed, feeling the weight of his decision pressing down on him. There was no going back, no return to the life he'd left behind.

"Tell me what I need to do," he said, his voice steady.

Azrael's smile widened, a cold, predatory gleam in his eyes. "Perfect. Prepare yourself, Eren. This next task will show you the true meaning of power—and the price of betrayal."

As the night closed in around them, Eren felt the last remnants of his old self slipping away, buried beneath the shadows that bound him to his fate.