The shard under Eren's skin pulsed faintly, like a secret heartbeat. It hummed against his veins, weaving his own rhythm into the city's. Every step he took felt heavier, yet electric, as though the very streets below knew he had changed.
Kael led him from the shattered room, the fragments of the Observer's mirrors dissolving into shards of light that floated around them like fireflies trapped in water. The silence that followed was thick, vibrating with the memory of a thousand forgotten voices.
"Do you feel that?" Eren asked. His amber-hazel eyes flickered, gold and violet streaks under his skin glowing faintly with the shard's pulse.
Kael's gaze scanned the corridors. "The city is alert. They've already noticed the shift."
Eren hesitated. "Not who?"
"The Ones who Remember." Kael's gray eyes sharpened, corners darkened by caution. "People who have always known the Pulse exists… and who never forgot it, even when the rest of the world did."
The phrase made Eren shiver. He had felt their presence before — like a shadow brushing against his own pulse, fleeting and impossible to pin down. Only now did he realize they were watching, always.
Kael's hand brushed against his shoulder. "And now, they're moving toward us."
Eren followed him into the stairwell. The walls were narrow, lit by the faint red glow of emergency lights that hummed and flickered. With each step, the shard throbbed against his chest, urging him forward, forcing his heartbeat to sync with something larger, something unknowable.
"Why do they want me?" Eren asked, voice low, almost a whisper in the airless shaft.
Kael's stride never faltered. "Because you are the Pulse made human. And because they fear what happens if you lose control."
Eren swallowed hard. "And if I can't control it?"
Kael's jaw tightened, flame flickering behind his gray eyes. "Then the city dies. Or worse — it forgets the wrong things."
The stairwell opened into a vast, abandoned train station. Rusted tracks led into darkness. Above, the neon of Vareth seeped through the broken ceiling, casting fractured rainbows over puddles of still water.
Eren's veins glowed brighter with every step. He felt the shard responding to the city, reacting to the pulse of neon and asphalt, steel and water, like it was alive — like it was calling him forward.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Tall. Lean. Eyes sharp and silver, reflecting the fractured neon above. He moved like liquid, silently, each step calculated.
"You're Eren Vail," the stranger said, voice smooth, almost amused. "I've been waiting."
Eren's chest tightened. He could feel the shard pulse faster. "Who… who are you?"
"They call me Hadran." His gaze swept over Kael first, then back to Eren. "And we remember. Always. Even when the city wanted to forget."
Kael stepped in front of Eren. "You'll find he doesn't speak in half-truths. Don't underestimate him."
Hadran's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Neither should you." He took a step closer. Eren could feel the cold hum of his presence — calculated, precise, dangerous. Yet something in the rhythm of his pulse resonated with Eren's shard.
Eren's own heartbeat seemed to sync briefly with Hadran's, sending a shiver down his spine. He could sense intention — not just in Kael, not just in Hadran, but in the air itself. The city, alive with memory, seemed to recognize the newcomer.
"What do you want?" Eren asked, his voice stronger now. Amber-hazel eyes flickering between Kael and Hadran. Gold threads glimmered faintly along his arms, like veins of light stretched under skin.
Hadran's gaze held him, unblinking. "You don't understand yet. But soon, you will. The Pulse isn't just yours, Eren. And there are those who would rather see it… harnessed differently."
Kael's gray eyes darkened. "You think he'll take it. You think he can control it without… consequence."
Hadran shrugged. "I've seen worse awakenings." He stepped closer to Eren, just within reach, and the shard in Eren's chest flared — not violently, but intensely. The shard thrummed with anticipation, responding to Hadran like it knew him, or at least the threat he carried.
Eren pulled back slightly, gripping the shard under his chest. "I don't know if I… if I want this."
Kael's voice softened, just for him. "You didn't choose this, Eren. But the city chose you, and the Pulse chose you. You can run from it, or you can learn to command it. That choice is yours."
For a moment, the station felt suspended in time. The drizzle from the broken ceiling above fell in slow motion, forming tiny ripples in the puddles around them. Eren's heartbeat echoed, a drumbeat through the concrete and steel. Hadran's presence felt like a shadow brushing against his mind — the tension of predator and prey, curiosity and wariness intertwined.
Then, with a movement too fast to follow, Hadran extended his hand toward the shard glowing in Eren's chest.
The room seemed to pulse with the act alone. Eren's amber-hazel eyes widened, gold and violet veins flaring. Kael stepped forward instantly, flames licking along his arms.
"Do not touch him," Kael said, voice low and dangerous.
Hadran smirked faintly. "Relax, silence. I only want him to understand what he's bound to. Nothing more… for now."
Eren's pulse raced, the shard responding to both of them. He felt the raw edge of something immense — power and danger intertwined with desire, the pull of connection heavier than air. And, just briefly, he sensed something intimate in the tension, something fragile and stirring, like a whisper of belonging he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.
"You're not alone," Kael murmured, just for him. The closeness was brief, almost accidental, but it left warmth beneath the cold rain of the station.
Eren blinked, pulling himself together. "Then teach me," he said quietly, the shard under his chest vibrating like a pulse of its own.
Hadran tilted his head, silver eyes glinting. "Oh, I will. But first… you need to see them."
The station trembled faintly, like the city itself was answering. Shadows began to stretch along the broken platforms, moving toward them in shapes that were human, but not quite. Faces blurred in rain and neon — all the forgotten memories, all the watchers who had remembered when the city had turned away.
Eren's veins glowed brighter. His shard pulsed in resonance. "Who… who are they?"
Hadran's smile was calm, unreadable. "They are the Ones Who Remember. And soon… they will decide if the Pulse survives in you, or dies with you."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Stay close to me," he said, hand brushing Eren's, almost instinctively, grounding him. The gesture was fleeting, yet it carried weight — trust, protection, and something else neither of them said aloud.
Eren nodded, amber-hazel eyes flickering with gold light. The shard thrummed, responding to both their presence. Somewhere deep, he understood the truth: the city, Kael, Hadran, even the Ones Who Remember — they were all threads in the same impossible pattern. And he, Eren Vail, was the center.
The first shadow stepped closer, and the station seemed to exhale.
The Pulse was awake.