Eren was dreaming,At first, he wasn't sure if it was a dream at all. The world around him felt too sharp, too heavy, as though every detail had been carved into his mind with a blade. A gray sky hung overhead, pressing down with weight he could feel in his lungs. The ground beneath his bare feet was cracked and dry, as if fire had scorched the earth long ago.
He turned slowly, small hands clenched at his sides. Something about the place hurt. It wasn't the silence, nor the ruin that stretched around him—it was the feeling, the strange, gnawing ache that told him he was missing something. Someone.
That was when he saw her.
A girl.
She sat a little distance away, knees pulled up to her chest, her face half-hidden behind her arms. Long, tangled hair spilled over her shoulders, dark but glinting faintly as though dusted with starlight. Her small body shook with each quiet sob. She wasn't loud, not at all. The sound of her crying was soft, broken, almost like she was trying not to be heard.
Eren's chest tightened. He didn't know her. He had never seen her before. And yet—just looking at her made his throat close up. He felt like he should know her, like he had lost something precious and was staring at it without a name.
He stepped forward. His voice came out thin and uneven. "Are… are you alright?"
The girl lifted her head.
Her eyes were red, swollen from crying, tears clinging to her lashes. But they weren't empty. They looked at him—through him—with a depth that made his heart stumble. She stared as if she had been waiting for him. As if she had missed him all her life.
Eren froze. His chest hammered. Sweat dampened his forehead though the air was cold.
The girl's lips parted. No sound came. But her eyes… they trembled with words she couldn't form.
For a long moment, nothing moved. Just two children in a broken land, bound by something neither could name. Then—
Her mouth shaped a single word.
Brother.
Eren's small body jolted. His pulse raced so fast he thought he would faint. His hands shook violently.
And then it was gone.
The girl, the broken land, the heavy sky—everything shattered like glass underfoot.
Eren shot upright in his bed, gasping. His chest heaved as if he had been running. Cold sweat clung to his back, soaking the thin shirt he wore. He looked around wildly, heart still hammering, but his little room was the same as always: rough wooden walls, the faint glow of dawn seeping through the shutters, his toy sword leaning against the wall.
But the feeling remained. Sadness. Regret. Loss. His eyes burned though he hadn't cried. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to slow the wild beating of his heart.
"What… what was that?" he whispered. His voice cracked. He couldn't remember clearly—couldn't picture her face, couldn't grasp her name. But the ache lingered like a wound.
The door creaked.
Eren flinched as his father stepped inside. The man's broad shoulders nearly filled the frame, his hair still messy from sleep, but his eyes sharpened the instant they fell on his son. For a heartbeat, he froze.
Eren stared back, breath still ragged.
His father's jaw tightened. He said nothing. No question, no scolding. Just silence. Then, quietly, he turned and left the room, shutting the door with care.
Eren sat there, shivering though the morning air was mild. His father's look had been brief, but it left him unsettled. Almost as if his father had seen this before. Almost as if he knew.
A few moments later, the smell of food drifted in—warm bread and eggs, herbs frying in a pan. Eren forced himself up, tugging on his clothes with clumsy hands, and padded toward the kitchen.
His mother was already there, her sleeves rolled up, dark hair tied loosely behind her head. She looked up from the pan and smiled the kind of smile that always made his chest lighter.
"Good morning, Eren. Did you sleep well?"
Eren hesitated. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to keep the dream locked away where it couldn't make her worry. So he nodded quickly. "Mmhm."
Her smile softened, but she didn't press. She never did. Instead, she gestured toward the table where a bag sat neatly packed.
"Are you ready? Today is the big day."
Eren blinked. For a moment, the heavy sadness in his chest wavered. Then joy burst through, bright and fierce. His eyes widened, his mouth curling into a grin so wide it almost hurt.
"Our journey?" he said, voice rising with excitement. "It's today?!"
His mother laughed softly. "Yes, today. Your first time seeing the mainland."
Eren's heart soared. The dream was forgotten in that instant, smothered by the pure glow of childish excitement. He rushed to the bag, nearly tripping over his own feet, and hugged it to his chest as though it were treasure.
"Of course I'm ready, Mom!" he said, beaming. "I've been ready forever!"
His grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with a warmth only a child could hold. He could hardly keep still, bouncing on his toes as he hugged the bag.
His mother chuckled, shaking her head. "Careful, Eren. You'll burst before we even leave the house."
He laughed with her, joy spilling out like sunlight through the shutters. For a moment, the unease of the morning felt far away.
But then, as he set the bag down, a thought crept in. His smile faltered.
"…Father isn't coming with us, is he?" he asked quietly.
The words slipped out before he could stop them. He looked down at his feet, the happiness dimming with a trace of sorrow. The idea of leaving his father behind, of stepping onto the mainland without him, made his chest tighten.
But before his mother could answer, another voice spoke.
"What are you so sad about?"
Eren turned. His father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm going with you."
Eren's eyes widened. His whole face lit up like the sun. "Really? Are you really coming with us?!"
He rushed forward, almost tripping again, staring up at his father with shining eyes.
"But… but why? Who will take care of the house?"
His father glanced at his mother, and she gave a small, knowing nod. He looked back at Eren, voice steady.
"Me and your mother decided—it's time. The war is over. There's no reason to stay on this island anymore. On the mainland, you'll have more chances, more safety… a better life. For all of us."
Eren froze, blinking. His small hands clenched at his sides as the words sank in. They weren't just visiting. They were leaving. Moving.
His heart raced with excitement, but also something else. A strange tug, as though invisible roots were pulling him back, whispering not to let go.
He pushed it aside. He grinned up at his father, eyes bright. "Then let's go! Let's go today!"
His father chuckled, ruffling his hair with one large hand. "Impatient as ever. Finish your breakfast first."
Eren laughed, dropping into his seat, the earlier dream a distant shadow at the back of his mind.
The morning mist clung to the harbor, curling around the wooden posts and drifting lazily across the calm sea. The boat that would take them to the mainland bobbed gently at its tether, its dark sails still furled. Eren's small hands gripped the strap of his travel bag as he leaned forward, practically bouncing with excitement.
This was it—the start of his very first journey beyond the island.
His mother brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile soft as always. She knelt to straighten Eren's tunic. "Stay close, alright? The sea is calm today, but we'll be out there for hours."
Eren nodded quickly, though his gaze was fixed on the water, eyes wide as the faint light of dawn shimmered across its surface. His father was already speaking with the sailors, his tall frame impossible to miss even among the rugged men. When he returned, his face held that steady confidence Eren always admired.
"Boarding now. Stay near your mother," he said simply, resting a hand on Eren's shoulder.
Eren almost burst into a grin. Both of them, together… this is going to be perfect.
The family climbed the narrow plank and stepped onto the boat. The deck creaked under their weight, but the ship was sturdy, crafted from heavy timber and reinforced with iron nails. Eren wandered from one side to the other, peering over the railing at the waves lapping below.
The first hour passed in silence, save for the flap of sails and the creak of ropes. His mother sat nearby with a book, his father closed his eyes and leaned against the mast, clearly enjoying the rare peace. But Eren… Eren grew restless. His legs bounced, his fingers drummed against the railing. He couldn't sit still.
He turned suddenly, tugging at his mother's sleeve. "Mom… can I go into my mind realm? I want to explore it more."
Her eyes flicked up from the book. For a moment, she hesitated, studying him carefully. Then she closed the book and set it on her lap. "Eren, listen to me carefully. The mind realm is not a playground. You're too young to wander freely. That is why we always say you must wait until twelve—you need a foundation before you can bear the weight of what you'll see there."
"I'll be careful!" Eren insisted, his fists clenched tightly. "I just want to look. Not go far."
His father cracked an eye open. "If he has the will, let him try. But, Eren—" His tone grew stern. "—you must not push yourself. The tree in your realm is your very life. When its leaves fall, so does your strength. If you strip it bare, you may not wake again. Do you understand?"
Eren swallowed hard, nodding. "Yes, Father."
His mother still looked uneasy, but she finally sighed, brushing her hand gently against his cheek. "Alright. But only for a short while. Promise me."
"I promise."
Eren settled into a corner of the deck, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. His breath slowed. The sound of waves and gulls faded, replaced by a strange, ringing silence. And then—
He opened his eyes to find himself standing on solid ground that was not the boat.
The mind realm stretched out around him like a dream. He stood upon a massive island floating in the sky, its edges crumbling into a vast, endless fog. Above him hung other isles, suspended like stars in the heavens. Some glittered with lakes that reflected light as if from suns unseen. Others bore jagged peaks of stone, or what looked like houses, strange and small, perched precariously. They pulsed faintly, as though calling to him.
At the very center of his island stood his tree.
It was small, fragile compared to the towering giants in his parents' descriptions, but it was his. Its bark was pale, almost silver, its roots threading deep into the floating soil. A few bright leaves swayed gently in an unfelt wind.
Eren walked toward it, eyes wide with wonder. "How… how do I reach the other islands?" he whispered.
He looked at the sword in his hand—simple steel, no different than the one he had seen in his training. His small fingers tightened around its hilt. If I can't reach them yet, then I'll prepare myself. I'll get stronger here, so one day I can climb as high as I want.
He set his feet, raising the blade. "One hundred swings," he muttered. "All of them the same. Not one weaker than the other."
The first slash came easily, cutting through the air with a whistle. The second was heavier, his arms already straining. By the tenth, sweat poured down his brow. His small body wasn't ready for this. But he grit his teeth, breath rasping, and swung again.
I can't stop… I have to do this…
Thirty. Forty. His arms trembled violently. His knees threatened to buckle. He forced them to straighten. Fifty. His breaths came ragged now, chest heaving as if he had run miles. By seventy, his vision blurred. His hands felt raw against the hilt.
At ninety-three, his sword dipped, almost falling from his grip. He caught it, raising it once more. Ninety-four. Ninety-five. His lungs burned like fire.
Just a few more…
Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine.
On the hundredth swing, his body collapsed. The blade slipped from his fingers, clattering against the grass. His knees hit the earth, and he gasped desperately for air.
He looked up at his tree—and froze.
The branches were bare. Every last leaf had fallen, littering the ground around its roots.
Eren's heart pounded. His lips parted, whispering, "Damn… I guess this is my limit. So the leaves… they must be my strength. My energy. Without them, I can't even stand here…"
His vision flickered, the edges of his world turning dark. But as his eyes dimmed, he thought he saw something move in the fog beyond the paths—something tall, with eyes faintly glowing, watching him.
And then he knew no more.
He awoke to the rocking of the boat, his mother's gentle hand against his forehead. "Eren?" Her voice was soft, worried. "You pushed yourself, didn't you?"
Eren blinked, struggling to sit upright. His father was watching from across the deck, his arms folded, his face unreadable.
"Leaves," Eren mumbled weakly. "They fell… all of them. I was too weak."
His mother pulled him against her chest, smoothing his hair. "That's why we warned you, little one. The mind realm takes what you give, and it demands a price for every step."
His father's stern gaze softened slightly. "But you lasted longer than most would at your age. Don't be ashamed, Eren. Strength comes in time."
Eren's small fists clenched against his knees. He nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Something was there… in the fog. I know it.
The boat continued toward the mainland, the sea stretching endlessly ahead.