The air after battle always felt heavier.

Smoke from the scorched grass still lingered, curling low like ghostly fingers across the ground. The corpses of the Woken Beasts lay twisted and still, their malformed bodies beginning to dissolve into black ash. Eren stood silently, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breath. Every muscle in his body throbbed, every wound screamed for rest.

But rest would not come.

Akreth, though silent, still pulsed faintly in his hand its warmth not painful, but persistent, like a presence that refused to be ignored.

Elira stood a short distance away, her white cloak billowing softly in the breeze. She hadn’t spoken since the battle ended. She hadn’t needed to. Eren knew she was watching him closely, studying not the wounds on his body, but the shift in his spirit.

The sky had darkened completely now. The moon above was pale and gray, veiled by ash and drifting clouds. Its light cast an eerie glow across the ruined clearing, painting the world in silver and shadow.

Eren turned to Elira at last.
“I survived.”

“You did,” she said, nodding. “But survival isn’t the same as readiness.”

He frowned. “Then what was the point of the trial?”

“To wake the blade,” she answered, stepping closer. “And to show it that you're worthy of its burden.”

Eren looked down at the sword, then to his bloodied hand.
“It feels... like something’s watching me from inside it.”

“That’s because there is.”

He stared at her, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Akreth was forged with a soul inside it,” Elira explained, her voice quiet but steady. “A soul cursed to never pass on. It remembers every wielder who’s drawn it. Every battle. Every regret. Every death.”

He looked down again, the sword suddenly heavier.

“Who was the first?” he asked.

She hesitated.
“No one knows for sure. The records were lost during the War of the Sundering. Some say the first bearer was a prince who betrayed his kingdom for love. Others believe it was a priest who tried to seal away forbidden magic. All we know is this every one of them met the same fate.”

Eren's voice lowered.
“And that is?”

“They died wielding it.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Elira finally gestured toward the eastern edge of the clearing.
“Come. There's a place we can rest. You need healing, and there are things you must see.”

He followed her through the broken trees, wincing with every step. The pain in his side had worsened, and blood still trickled from the tear across his ribs. Still, he didn’t let himself fall behind. Something about Elira’s pace told him this wasn’t a simple walk through the woods.

They traveled in silence for nearly an hour. The forest shifted around them as they moved deeper older trees, darker roots, a strange quiet that made Eren’s skin prickle. At last, they reached a rise where a stone path cut through the undergrowth. Half-buried in moss and dirt, the stones glowed faintly in the moonlight.

“A ruin?” he asked.

“A memory,” Elira said. “What’s left of the Temple of Shadows.”

She led him down the path to a broken stone archway. Beyond it stood the remains of a sanctuary pillars crumbled, walls overtaken by vines, yet some symbols still visible across the floor. In the center was a stone platform. Upon it, an altar.

Elira approached the altar and knelt beside it. She pulled a small vial from beneath her cloak and uncorked it. A faint blue light drifted from within.

“What is that?” Eren asked, watching as she poured the liquid over the altar.

“Lightroot essence,” she said. “It’ll help cleanse the wounds. And more importantly, it’ll keep the sword from... reaching too deeply.”

Eren sat beside her and laid Akreth across the stone. The blade seemed to hum in protest, but it didn’t resist. As the liquid touched it, a soft hiss echoed from the altar, and the runes on the blade dimmed slightly.

“You need to learn to control it,” Elira said as she wrapped a cloth around his ribs. “Or it will control you.”

“I felt it during the fight,” he admitted. “Like it wanted me to go further. Like it was enjoying the blood.”

“It does. The sword feeds on struggle. On defiance. But also on sorrow. The more you give, the more it takes.”

Eren closed his eyes, letting the pain dull into background noise.
“And if I lose myself?”

“You’ll become one of them,” she said. “Another beast. Another shadow. And someone else will be forced to stop you.”

He opened his eyes slowly. “Would that someone be you?”

Elira didn’t answer. She only met his gaze and for the first time, he saw something beneath her composure.

Sadness.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re helping me,” he said. “You knew about Akreth. About the beasts. About all of this.”

“I did.”

“Then why?”

She looked away.
“Because I once loved someone who held the sword. And I failed to save him.”

Eren sat up straighter.

“He was the last bearer before you. A man named Cael. He wanted to end the curse… but Akreth broke him before he could.”

“And you think I can finish what he started?”

Elira stood, brushing moss from her cloak.

“No. I don’t think that at all.”

Eren’s heart sank but then she turned to him, her eyes fierce.

“But I hope you can.”