Eren woke to silence.
No Pulse hum. No Kael's voice. Only the whisper of air — cold and strange — brushing against his skin like it didn't belong here.
He pushed himself up slowly. The world around him shimmered, fractured — a reflection of Vareth, yet hollow. The skyline was there, but inverted; towers bent at impossible angles, their lights frozen mid-flicker. The streets below were sheets of mirrored glass, and when he stepped onto them, his own reflection blinked back — but half a second too late.
His amber-hazel eyes caught the dim violet glow crawling through his veins. The shard beneath his skin pulsed faintly, matching the slow rhythm of the world's heartbeat.
"Where…" His voice cracked. "Where am I?"
A faint ripple moved across the mirrored ground, distorting the reflection — until another voice rose, smooth and distant.
"You're home," it said. "Or at least… the version of it you were meant to see."
Eren turned.
Draven stood not far off, his silhouette tall against the fractured skyline. His coat trailed behind him like smoke, his eyes gleaming with a cold silver-blue light that didn't belong to this world.
"What did you do?" Eren demanded, fists trembling as arcs of lightning cracked faintly around his arms.
Draven smiled, slow and knowing. "You opened the mirror. I simply followed."
Eren's pulse spiked. "This isn't real."
"Real?" Draven took a step closer, his reflection moving the opposite way, as if mocking him. "Reality is just a promise the Pulse made to keep you obedient. This—" he spread his hands "—is what lies underneath. The city's truth."
Eren's jaw clenched. "And Kael?"
At that, Draven's smirk softened — almost sympathetic. "He's where he's always been. Chained to the silence he swore to protect."
Lightning flared through Eren's veins, violet threading into gold. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Draven's voice was velvet and venom both. "Tell me, Eren — has he ever told you why he fears the Pulse waking? Why he looks at you like you're something he wants to protect… and destroy?"
The words hit like static.
Eren wanted to move — to deny, to strike, to do anything but feel that twist of doubt — but his body felt heavy, the air thick with glassy stillness.
Draven stepped closer again, and for a moment, his hand brushed Eren's cheek. The touch was cool, unreal, yet almost gentle.
"You're not his weapon," Draven whispered. "You're the city's last memory. And Kael wants to bury it."
Eren's breath caught. His reflection flickered again — not one, but three — each version of himself looking slightly different. One afraid. One furious. One broken.
He staggered back, eyes wide. "Get out of my head."
Draven's smile vanished. "You can't escape your own origin, Eren. But you can rewrite it."
The world trembled — the glass beneath Eren's feet splintering like ice. The mirrored sky cracked open above him, spilling light like blood.
And somewhere, faint but certain, a familiar voice broke through the distortion — Kael's voice.
"Eren—"
It was distant, desperate.
Draven's gaze hardened. "He's calling you back. But tell me — do you want to go?"
Eren stared at him, heart pounding, the glow beneath his skin now searing hot. Lightning split the air between them, and in its reflection, Eren saw himself — a boy caught between creation and consequence.
"I don't know," he whispered.
Draven smiled again. "Good. Then you're ready."
The world shattered.
And Eren fell — through glass, through light, through memory — into the sound of his own heartbeat.