— A Palm to Command Obedience —
Eren was taken back to the prison—not to solitary this time, but to a standard cell.
"Stay in line. Anyone who lays a finger on Eren gets at least ten days in the hole," Aveline commanded before slamming the door shut.
She knew that once Eren's identity as a Vigil-Wyrm was confirmed, he'd likely be granted a special bail and released soon. Her tone held both a threat and a faint thread of anticipation.
The moment the door closed, the cell grew restless.
Knife-Scar Jack's bloodshot eyes snapped toward Eren, sharp and furious.. "You, brat! What the hell is your deal with that female guard?" he snarled, not waiting for an answer before barking, "Boys, teach him a lesson!"
Several prisoners lunged forward.
Eren didn't dodge. He simply rose slowly, like stagnant water stirred by a breeze—calm but unfathomably deep. With a casual sweep of his palm, a surge of force detonated in the air—
THUMP—
The men were sent flying as if hit by a truck, crashing against the wall with sickening crunches and agonized screams. A mist of blood bloomed under the dim, yellowish light.
Eren stood his ground, calm as still autumn water."Do you wish to live, or to die?"
His words were like a cold blade, severing the very spine of their courage.
Knife-Scar Jack immediately dropped to his knees, kowtowing frantically, his face ashen and his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. "B-Boss! We were blind! We didn't know! Spare us, please—"
The other prisoners exchanged bewildered glances. Their notoriously ruthless leader, who never bowed to any authority, was now groveling in fear. The shift was too sudden, too absolute.
The lingering scent of blood and rust hung in the air like an invisible net, pressing down on every chest.
Without another word, Eren returned to his bunk, sat cross-legged, and closed his eyes, sinking into cultivation.
Soon, footsteps echoed outside the cell again.
Aveline returned, her gaze sweeping over the cowering prisoners huddled in the corner. A cold smirk touched her lips before she turned to Eren.
"You have a visitor."
"A visitor?" Eren's eyes opened, a slight frown creasing his brow. Who would come to see him at a time like this?
---
— Face-Off —
The visitation room was cleaved in two by a pane of glass: outside, harsh sunlight; inside, the shadow of captivity.
Eren entered, and his gaze immediately fell upon a figure both terrifyingly familiar and utterly dreaded—Lyra Veyne.
Her face was cold as a porcelain doll in winter, her eyes like lakes scorched by fire, churning with a dark, crimson-tinged fury.
"You... Why are you here?" Eren asked first, his voice trembling unexpectedly. He never imagined she would come herself.
Lyra slammed her palm against the thick, reinforced glass. The sharp impact cracked like a whip against his heart. Her voice was sharp as a honed blade:
"Eren, you murderous demon!"
The words erupted like a thunderclap, unleashing a torrent of vengeance and pain.
Her roar was laden with unbearable memories: the slaughter of over thirty lives on that blood-drenched night, the eyes filled with despair after violation, the powerless accusations in the courtroom, the shattered trust—all the fragments pointed at him like so many icy daggers.
Pinned by her gaze, a shiver ran through Eren's body. Still, he steeled himself to explain. "Lyra, calm down. I'm a victim too. That night—" He tried to lay out the chaos, the doubts, the truth, but his words felt ground down, fragmented, growing weaker with each syllable.
Lyra wouldn't listen, couldn't believe. She clung to the single truth branded into her mind: "The evidence is ironclad, and you still deny it! Do you think I'd believe a demon's lies?" Her nostrils flared faintly with a dark flush, her clenched fists shaking uncontrollably.
"I can't wait any longer." She leaned closer to the glass, her eyes blazing. "I want you dead now! Every second you breathe is torture to me. I'll pay to have you killed in here!"
Her words, low and hard, were like stones hurled one after another into Eren's chest, each one stirring the guilt festering within. He knew this wasn't an empty threat—Lyra had lost everything. Her despair and hatred could drive her to any extreme.
Then she added, her voice tearing with gruesome imagination: "And after you're dead, I'll find a way to get your body... chop you into mincemeat and feed you to the dogs." The hatred, laced with unrestrained delusion, flared like wildfire.
Eren fell silent. He could see the traces of stubbornly wiped tears at the corners of Lyra's eyes. In that moment, his heart felt hollowed out, then filled with cold, heavy stones.
Lyra turned to leave, her steps resolute.
A sudden panic seized Eren: his spiritual sense lightly swept out, detecting a lethal danger lurking along the path she was about to take. His heart clenched—it wasn't pity, but a primal instinct to protect. He couldn't stand by and watch her come to harm.
"Wait!" he cried out, his voice breaking through the glass, carrying an unprecedented weight of plea and urgency.
Lyra halted but didn't turn back. Her figure appeared like a floating silhouette in the glare of the sun. She spat out coldly, "Begging? It's too late, demon!" Then she walked away.
Eren stood rooted, feeling an iron band tightening around his chest. He saw danger shadowing her every step, yet he could do nothing now. Remorse and hatred tore at him: hatred for the true culprit who pushed her into this abyss, and for the role he himself played that shattered night; remorse for all the suffering she endured, yet he had no words, no truth to offer that could soothe her wounds.
Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he sought and found a sliver of calm. A decision solidified within him—since words could not win back trust, he would use action to protect what little of her world remained.
---
— The Blood Sigil —
He took a plain sheet of A4 paper, bit his middle finger, and let the welling blood serve as ink. With swift strokes, he traced ancient, crude sigils onto the page.
Each mark felt like a silent rite of offering.
He silently recited the tenets of The Meta Dipper cultivation art, channeling a thread of his spiritual awareness into the sigil.
The markings on the paper quivered faintly, emitting a barely perceptible, ghostly luminescence.
He folded the paper into a triangle and handed it solemnly to Aveline, his expression grave.
"Quickly! Use any means necessary to get this to Lyra. You must not tell her it came from me."
Aveline took the paper talisman, a slight frown on her brow. But seeing the sincerity and resolve in Eren's eyes, she finally nodded.
Half-skeptical, she turned and left, clutching the triangular paper, hurrying to catch Lyra, who was still in the parking lot.
She lowered her voice, infusing it with a note of respect and sincerity.
"Miss Lyra, I heard about the tragedy that befell your family. I'm truly sorry for your loss—this is a protective charm I obtained from a temple. It safeguards peace. It's very potent. Please take it."
As she held out the triangular paper, her own gaze flickered slightly, seemingly stirred by the faint energy emanating from the sigil.
Lyra hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take it. The instant her fingertips touched the paper, a strange sensation—both cool and unnervingly warm—threaded through her.
Her expression remained placid. "Thank you," she said flatly, then turned and left.
Aveline watched the car gradually disappear into the distance, a pang of sorrow rising in her heart.
Such a fine woman, to suffer such a cruel fate... Heaven is unkind, the world is merciless.
When she returned, Eren asked urgently, "Did she take it?"
Aveline nodded, her tone laced with wry humor. "She did. But if she knew it was from you, she'd probably curse me to the depths of hell."
Eren gave a bitter smile. "You're right. I'd rather she never knows.
Her heart is full of nothing but rage and pain right now. Any explanation would only add fuel to the fire."
Aveline studied his face, etched with weariness and regret, and asked quietly, "That charm... does it really work?"
Eren's gaze grew heavy, his voice cold and resolute.
"It offers three days of protection—one shield against blood calamity.
But it cannot change fate. Three days from now… she may still face danger."
The midnight cell was cold as an icehouse.
Eren closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath, "Three days..."
His voice was like the clank of chains, heavy and final.
"No matter the cost, I must get out."
The wind moaned softly outside the window, as if in answer, or perhaps in mockery.
The faint residual glow of the sigil shone from his palm, a single ember in the darkness—
Capable of igniting deeper shadows, yet also illuminating the inexpressible remorse in his heart.
— What he owed her ran far deeper than hatred.