Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 42

The wound ached, a relentless reminder of the price he paid for defiance. Eren's back pressed against the rough wood of the safe house wall, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room as Alaric murmured with their allies. They'd made it back alive, but the toll weighed on each of them, a somber silence settling in the air.

As he sat there, fingers unconsciously tracing the bandage along his ribs, a woman in dark, fitted armor approached him. Her presence was intense, with sharp, calculating eyes that missed nothing. She introduced herself with a name he immediately forgot, but her message came through clear.

"We need more than half-hearted strikes against Azrael," she said, her voice cutting. "He is tightening his grip on every corner of Ezura. You keep chipping at the edges, and he'll snap you in half before you reach his doorstep."

Eren's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. He'd heard these words before from allies who came and went like shadows, their loyalty as fleeting as their tempers. "I'm not here to play savior," he replied, his voice low. "Every strike we make is calculated. Every hit has a purpose."

She leaned in closer, voice a whisper. "Calculated? You call losing two of our best calculated?" Her words stung, but Eren's resolve was unwavering.

"We're not like Azrael's army," Eren said, voice steely. "Our power isn't in numbers but in unpredictability. If you want a clean war, fight it yourself."

She pulled back, a flicker of something like respect shadowing her gaze. "Just know that the higher you rise, the more eyes watch. Azrael's not one to ignore even a single thorn. You make yourself a threat, and he will hunt you until you're nothing but ash and memory."

---

Alaric returned to Eren's side once she left, his expression unreadable. "I see you're making friends," he said dryly.

Eren exhaled sharply, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. "Allies who think they know best, as always. Let them talk—they'll follow if they see results."

"Or they'll splinter off and turn us over for a chance at mercy," Alaric muttered.

Eren met Alaric's gaze, a trace of irritation simmering beneath the exhaustion. "Then we let them," he replied, voice unwavering. "I won't compromise my plan to placate them. I'm here for survival, Alaric, not to play martyr."

The words hung in the air between them, a bitter reminder of the thin line they walked between leadership and rebellion. Eren felt the weight of each choice like stones in his chest. The closer he edged to power, the more unstable his footing became.

---

Their next mission came quickly, leaving little time for recovery. It was an intel run—simple in theory but fraught with risks. Eren's injury made him slow, and Alaric's concern was palpable, but Eren insisted on going. His authority and presence were as much a weapon as any spell, and he knew he couldn't afford to step back.

Under the cover of night, they crept through a forest close to one of Azrael's outposts, shadows cloaking their approach. Their target was a spy in Azrael's ranks, a man who claimed to hold the key to a supply route's security details. Alaric scanned the area, his posture tense, as Eren kept his eyes trained on the surrounding trees, senses heightened.

But as they neared the rendezvous point, an uneasy sensation prickled at the back of Eren's mind—a familiarity, a warning. His muscles tensed just as a figure emerged from the shadows, his face cloaked, but there was something about the stance, the aura...

Eren's heart dropped as recognition dawned. It was Daegan, an enforcer under Azrael's command—a man Eren once trusted with his life in the early days of his training.

"Eren Valen," Daegan's voice rang out, low and mocking. "Still playing the hero, I see."

---

Eren felt a flash of anger, his hands itching with the urge to summon his magic. Daegan had been one of the few he once admired, a mage who valued strength and discipline over the brutality Azrael championed. But as Eren scanned the cold calculation in Daegan's eyes, he realized that any remnants of that man had been ground to dust.

"You chose your side, Daegan," Eren replied, his voice low. "I won't ask why."

Daegan's lips curved into a cold smile. "Good. Because your choices don't interest me. Azrael's interested in your...growth. You're becoming a problem, Eren, and I'm here to fix that."

The silence thickened, each man's breath visible in the cold night air. Alaric was beside Eren, his body coiled like a spring. But before they could make a move, Daegan raised a hand, a signal, and from the shadows, more figures emerged—Azrael's soldiers, armored and ready.

Eren clenched his fists, the magic thrumming at his fingertips. They were outnumbered, surrounded by Azrael's finest. But he wasn't here to plead or surrender.

"Alaric," he murmured, voice steady. "Take the left."

Without another word, they moved, a silent understanding passing between them. Eren's magic surged forward in a wave of scorching fire, pushing back the nearest guards. Alaric's sword flashed, cutting through the soldiers with a practiced, deadly precision.

But Daegan was no ordinary opponent. He wielded dark magic, his spells precise, honed through years of servitude under Azrael's rule. A flick of his wrist, and a shadowy tendril shot toward Eren, wrapping around his arm and sending a jolt of pain up his spine.

Eren gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, even as the tendril tightened, digging into his flesh. He focused, channeling his energy, and with a burst of force, shattered the dark magic's hold. His eyes locked onto Daegan's, filled with a cold determination.

"I'm not who I once was," Eren said, voice low and dark. "You should have stayed away."

Daegan's laugh was chilling, devoid of warmth. "The boy I knew is gone, then. Shame—it would have been easier."

Their battle was brutal, a deadly dance of magic and steel. The soldiers fell back, watching with a morbid fascination as the two former allies fought with a ferocity that left the forest scarred and burning.

In a moment of weakness, Daegan's spell found an opening, striking Eren across his already injured side. Pain seared through him, his vision blurring as he staggered back, clutching his wound.

Daegan approached, a look of triumph in his eyes. "And this is the end of the rebellion's thorn."

---

But as Daegan raised his hand for the final blow, Alaric surged forward, his sword slicing through the night. The blade caught Daegan off guard, grazing his arm and throwing off his aim. Eren seized the moment, summoning the last of his strength to conjure a spell—a burst of fire and raw force that sent Daegan sprawling.

Daegan lay motionless, his expression one of stunned disbelief as he looked up at Eren. "You've changed," he managed, voice weak.

Eren looked down at him, his face devoid of mercy. "So has Ezura."

Without another word, he let the magic loose, ending the man who once stood by his side.

---

Eren and Alaric returned to their base in silence, the weight of the encounter pressing on them both. Eren's injuries were severe, each step agony, but he bore it in silence, refusing to show weakness. In his mind, Daegan's words lingered—a bitter reminder of the cost of his path.

Back at the safe house, Alaric sat beside him, quietly tending to his wounds, his movements careful. "We need to rethink this," he murmured. "We can't keep fighting like this, Eren. Not when Azrael knows who we are."

Eren's gaze was distant, his mind already turning to new strategies, new methods to stay ahead. "We don't fight to win. We fight to survive," he replied, his voice like steel.

Alaric watched him, a mixture of admiration and fear in his eyes. "Just remember, survival comes with a price."

Eren's face was unreadable, but his voice was cold. "I've already paid it."