The chains of light shattered beneath my fingers.
For one glorious moment, I thought I'd done it. I'd freed Kael. I'd saved him. The figure before me flickered, its shadowy form beginning to dissolve, and I reached out to catch him—
But he didn't fall into my arms.
He fell apart.
The darkness that made up his body scattered like ash in the wind, and where Kael had been, there was only emptiness. Only silence. Only the cruel, mocking laugh of the Void echoing in my ears.
"Fool."
The voice was everywhere. In my head. In my bones. In the air around me.
"Did you really think it would be that easy? Did you really think the Void would give up its prize so willingly?"
I spun around, my heart pounding. The chamber of light was gone. I was standing in a vast, open space—a cavern of shadows and stone, with a bridge stretching out before me, leading to a platform in the distance.
On that platform, I could see him.
Kael.
Not the shadowy figure from before. The real Kael—chained to a pillar of black rock, his body translucent, his eyes closed. He was still alive. Still trapped.
But between me and him, there was only the bridge.
And the bridge was empty.
Too empty.
I took a step forward.
The stone beneath my feet was cold, ancient, worn smooth by centuries of nothing. The bridge stretched out before me, impossibly long, disappearing into a mist that swirled with shadows.
I took another step.
And then I heard it.
A sound like scales scraping against stone. A sound like something massive, something ancient, something hungry.
I froze.
The mist behind me parted, and I saw it.
A serpent. Not like any snake I'd ever seen—this thing was enormous, its body made of smoke and shadow, its scales shifting and writhing like living darkness. It coiled around the pillar where Kael was imprisoned, its head rising high above me, its eyes burning with crimson fire.
And it was looking directly at me.
"So," it said, its voice a low rumble that shook the ground beneath my feet. "Another one comes to free the prisoner."
I swallowed hard. "I'm not here to fight you."
"No," it agreed. "You're here to die."
The serpent uncoiled itself from the pillar, its massive body sliding across the stone with unnatural grace. It circled me, its head weaving back and forth, studying me like I was an insect.
"I am the Guardian of the Heart," it said. "I am the Keeper of the Void's most precious treasure. And I am the one who decides who lives and who dies."
I felt my hands shaking. I forced them to still.
"Then let me pass," I said. "I'm here to save Kael. That's all."
The serpent laughed. It was a terrible sound, like grinding bones.
"Save him? You can't save him. He's been here for five years. The Void has already consumed most of his soul. There's nothing left to save."
"There's still something," I said. "I can feel it. The real Kael is still in there."
The serpent's eyes narrowed.
"You're stubborn. I'll give you that. But stubbornness won't save you."
It lunged.
I threw myself to the side, rolling across the stone as its massive body crashed down where I'd been standing. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing across the bridge, and I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing.
"Wait!" I shouted. "You said you decide who lives and who dies. That means there's a way to pass, right? A test or something?"
The serpent paused. Its head tilted, studying me with those burning eyes.
"You're clever," it said. "I like clever. Yes, there is a way to pass. Answer my riddle, and I will let you cross."
A riddle. Of course. Because nothing in my life could ever be simple.
"Fine," I said. "Ask your riddle."
The serpent's form shifted, the smoke that made up its body swirling into a new shape—a humanoid figure, tall and faceless, with arms that ended in claws.
"I am an object," it said. "If you hurt me, you will cry. What am I?"
I blinked.
That was... that was it? That was the riddle?
I opened my mouth to answer—and then I stopped.
The answer was so obvious. An onion. Everyone knows that. If you hurt an onion, you cry. It was a classic, the kind of riddle you'd ask a five-year-old.
But something felt wrong.
The serpent was watching me, its faceless head tilted. There was something in its posture, something that looked almost like anticipation.
"Well?" it asked. "Do you know the answer?"
"It's an onion," I said.
The serpent was silent for a moment.
Then it laughed.
"Wrong."
I felt my blood run cold. "What? No, that's—that's the right answer. If you hurt an onion, you cry. Everyone knows that."
"I said 'object,' not 'food,'" the serpent said. "An onion is a vegetable. An object is something else entirely."
I opened my mouth to argue—and then I realized.
It was right.
I'd been so sure of myself, so confident in my answer, that I hadn't even stopped to consider the wording. Object. Not food. The riddle was deliberately misleading, and I'd fallen for it.
"Shit," I muttered, covering my mouth. "I messed up."
The serpent's form shifted, growing larger, more menacing. The smoke that made up its body began to swirl, forming tendrils that reached toward me.
"You failed," it said. "Now you die."
The tendrils lunged.
I threw myself backward, my heart pounding. The violet markings on my arm blazed to life, and I raised my hand, ready to unleash the Void's power—
"The sword."
The voice came out of nowhere. A whisper in my head, barely audible, but sharp as a blade.
"Use the sword."
"Sword?" I said, spinning around. "What sword? I don't have a—"
The tendrils were closing in. I had seconds, maybe less. I looked around desperately, hoping to see something—anything—that the voice could have been talking about.
But there was nothing.
Just the bridge, the mist, and the endless skulls scattered across the stone. Human skulls, thousands of them, their empty eye sockets staring at me with silent accusation.
"Where's the sword?" I shouted.
"Look inside."
The voice again. Calm, patient, infuriating.
"Look inside what?" I demanded.
"Inside yourself."
I didn't understand. I didn't have time to understand. The tendrils were almost on me, their shadowy forms reaching for my throat—
And then something happened.
The violet markings on my arm began to move.
Not flicker. Not pulse. Move. They crawled across my skin, winding from my wrist to my palm, and then—impossibly—they lifted off my flesh, forming a shape in the air before me.
A shape that was solid. Real.
A sword.
It was black. Not dark. Not shadowy. Black as the space between stars, black as the absence of light itself. The blade was long and thin, curved slightly at the tip, and the hilt was wrapped in something that looked like leather—or maybe skin. I didn't want to think about it.
I stared at it, my mouth hanging open.
"Wh... what...?"
But I didn't have time to wonder.
The tendrils struck.
I grabbed the sword without thinking. The hilt was warm in my hand, pulsing with the same rhythm as my heartbeat, and when I swung it, the blade cut through the shadows like they were made of paper.
The serpent screamed.
Not a sound of pain. A sound of rage.
"You—" it hissed. "That sword—you shouldn't—"
"I don't know what this is," I said, my voice shaking. "I don't know how I did it. But I'm not going to let you kill me."
The serpent's form shifted again, the smoke coalescing into something more solid, more terrible. It was massive now, its body filling the cavern, its eyes blazing with fury.
"You think a sword can save you?" it roared. "You think you're the first to try? I've killed dozens of warriors. Hundreds. You're nothing. You're weaker than the others who came here. WEAKER!"
It lunged.
The fight was chaos.
The serpent was faster than anything I'd ever faced. Its body moved with impossible flexibility, its head striking from one direction while its tail whipped around from the other. I barely managed to block the first attack, the black sword ringing against its shadowy scales.
"You're weaker than the others who came here!" it roared again, its voice echoing through the cavern. "Weak! Weak! WEAK!"
I gritted my teeth, swinging the sword in a wild arc. It connected, sending a spray of darkness into the air, but the serpent just laughed.
"Now you die!"
The tail came from behind.
I didn't see it coming. One moment I was facing the serpent's head, the next I was flying through the air, my body slamming against the stone wall of the cavern. The impact drove the breath from my lungs, and I collapsed to the ground, the sword clattering from my hand.
Pain. Everywhere. My ribs screamed. My vision swam. I tried to push myself up, but my arms wouldn't cooperate.
"Pathetic," the serpent hissed, slithering toward me. "I expected more from a Voidwalker. But you're just a boy. Just a scared little boy who doesn't know what he's doing."
I tried to move. I couldn't.
"Shit," I muttered, my vision blurring. "Shit, shit, shit."
Focus.
The voice again. Calm, steady, like a lifeline in the storm.
You're a scientist. You're a thinker. Use your head.
I blinked. My head. Right. I had a head. I had a brain. I was a science student, for god's sake. I'd spent years solving problems, calculating equations, figuring out how things worked.
I just had to figure out how this thing worked.
The serpent was huge. Too huge to fight head-on. But it was also predictable—every time it attacked, it moved in the same pattern. Head first, then tail. Head first, then tail.
If I could just calculate the timing. The distance. The speed.
I forced my eyes open. The serpent was coiling, preparing to strike again. I watched its body move, watched the way the shadows shifted, and I started counting.
One. Two. Three.
It lunged.
I rolled to the side, barely avoiding its jaws. The impact shook the ground, and I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the sword as I rose.
"Come on," I muttered. "Come on, think."
The serpent turned, its eyes blazing. It was already coiling again. The pattern was exactly the same.
Head first. Then tail.
Distance: roughly ten meters.
Speed: fast. Too fast to dodge completely.
But I don't have to dodge completely. I just have to be in the right place at the right time.
I smiled.
"Got it."
The serpent lunged.
This time, I didn't try to dodge. I stood my ground, the sword held at my side, and I waited.
Three meters. Two. One.
I dropped.
The serpent's head sailed over me, its massive body passing inches above my face. I rolled to my feet, spinning around, and swung the sword with all my might.
The blade connected with the serpent's tail.
Not a glancing blow. A solid, devastating strike that severed the shadowy limb cleanly. The serpent screamed—a sound of pure agony—and its body convulsed, thrashing wildly.
"IMPOSSIBLE!" it roared. "YOU'RE JUST A BOY!"
"I'm a science student," I said, grinning despite the pain. "And you're predictable."
The serpent tried to reform its tail, but the shadows wouldn't obey. The wound was too clean, too precise. The sword had done something deeper than just physical damage—it had hurt the serpent's very essence.
"You're done," I said. "Let me pass. Or I'll finish what I started."
The serpent stared at me with its burning eyes. For a long moment, I thought it would attack again.
Then, slowly, it began to shrink.
The smoke that made up its body dissipated, fading into the mist. The serpent's form grew smaller and smaller, until it was nothing more than a whisper of shadow.
"You... you are different," it said, its voice fading. "Not like the others. Maybe... maybe you can save him."
The last traces of smoke vanished.
And the bridge was clear.
I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving, the sword still clutched in my hand. The violet markings on my arm were pulsing gently, but they were calmer now—almost satisfied.
I'd won.
I'd actually won.
"Not bad, Eren," I muttered. "Not bad at all."
I started walking across the bridge.
Kael was waiting for me.
To be continued...