The city of Serethal no longer felt dead.
The moment Eren returned through the Gate of Sundered Flame, something subtle shifted. The air felt heavier not oppressive, but aware. As if the ruins themselves had stirred from slumber to witness what had returned through the flame.
Eren remained kneeling in the center of the amphitheater, head bowed, blade resting across his legs. The silver light of Akreth no longer shimmered chaotically it pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat. Each pulse resonated with something beyond magic. Beyond memory.
It was will.
Elira stood beside him, eyes locked on his form, uncertain whether to approach.
Then he looked up.
And she knew instantly he was not the same man who had stepped into the rift.
Not because of his eyes, though they now held a silver gleam that hadn't been there before. Not because of his posture, or his expression, or even the quiet strength in his voice when he finally spoke.
But because the flame had accepted him.
And he had accepted it on his terms.
"I saw everything," Eren said quietly. "The first spark. The fracture. The name that was erased."
Elira knelt beside him. "And yours?"
He gripped the blade.
"It burned through me. And it didn't take."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I gave it mine. But it gave nothing back. No title. No prophecy. Just… silence."
He looked at her.
"That's when I realized the fire doesn't name. It remembers. It reflects. It devours what we give it and shows us what we're afraid to see."
Elira reached out, touched his arm. "And what did it show you?"
He was silent for a long time.
Then finally: "That I'm not here to fulfill the prophecy."
He stood slowly, blade still in hand.
"I'm here to end it."
They made camp at the rim of the amphitheater as dusk fell. The stars above Serethal flickered faintly, but no longer with that strange, sickly light they'd seen before. Now, the sky felt distant again untouched.
Eren didn't sleep. He sat by the fire, silent, blade across his knees, eyes fixed on the horizon. The journey had not ended. It had merely evolved.
Elira broke the silence near midnight.
"You said the fire didn't give you a name."
He nodded.
"But it did remember you."
He looked over.
She continued, "So what will they call you now? The world won't care what the flame said. They'll name you themselves."
Eren chuckled softly. "Let them."
She raised an eyebrow. "Even if they call you a tyrant? A false flame? A mistake?"
He met her gaze.
"As long as I remember who I am, the names don't matter."
There was something unshakable in his voice now not arrogance, not certainty. Just clarity. Elira saw it, and part of her feared it. Not because he was becoming someone dangerous, but because he was becoming someone undeniable.
At dawn, Syra arrived.
She stepped through the mist like a ghost, her cloak dusted with ash. She said nothing for a while, just stood watching Eren from a distance.
He rose when he noticed her.
She stopped ten paces away. "You stepped through."
He nodded.
"You came back."
"I had to."
She studied him. "What changed?"
He considered her question. "Nothing. And everything."
Syra smirked faintly. "Typical flame-bearer answer."
Then her expression sobered. "The Covenant is moving. The Circle too. Word is, the Reclaimers are gathering near the Vale of Glass. Whatever you did… it sent ripples."
Eren sheathed his blade.
"Then they'll feel the wave soon enough."
Elira joined them. "Where will they strike first?"
"Anywhere you're not," Syra said. "They'll target the people who believe in you. Who whisper your name like it means something."
Eren's jaw clenched. "Then I'll give them a reason to fear it."
Syra stepped closer.
"If you walk this path openly there's no turning back. You won't just carry the flame. You become its banner."
"I'm not a symbol," Eren said.
"No," Syra replied. "But symbols are made of men who refuse to be them."
She drew something from her pack a small silver medallion etched with the rune of the Veil.
"Then take this," she said. "The others won't recognize your face. But they'll know this."
Eren accepted it.
"You still walk with them?"
Syra shook her head. "Not anymore. I walk behind you now. For as long as you don't lose yourself."
He nodded once.
Elira glanced between them. "So what now?"
Eren turned toward the north.
"Now we stop hiding. We stop waiting."
He looked at the medallion in his hand, then to the sword at his side.
"We bring the flame to them."
The sky lit with the first rays of morning. It was no longer pale. It was gold. And in it, Serethal seemed less ruined less haunted.
As if the world, like the sword, had been waiting for him to return whole.