The city was burning.
Eren sprinted through streets that didn't feel like his anymore.
The sidewalks where he used to hang out, the corner shop where he bought cheap coffee, the bus stop he always missed—everything was fire, rubble, and blood.
His lungs screamed, his legs ached, but he didn't stop. Not because he was brave.
Because stopping meant dying.
A ship rumbled overhead, blotting out the sky like a storm cloud. Its shadow swallowed the ruins, and from its belly poured more Krythar soldiers.
They dropped in formation, blades gleaming, movements sharp and efficient. Not human. Not even close.
Eren ducked into an alley, pressing against the wall, chest heaving. His whole body was buzzing with that strange energy, but it wasn't comforting.
It felt like holding a live wire—too much, too unstable.
"Okay… okay, breathe…" he whispered to himself, dragging a hand down his sweaty face.
"Don't freak out. You just… threw an alien through a car. Totally normal Tuesday."
A crash shook the alley. Something heavy was moving nearby. Eren froze. His pulse thundered in his ears.
Then—voices.
"Over here!"
"Keep your head down, damn it!"
Eren blinked. Human voices.
He crept toward the sound and peered around the corner.
A group of people huddled near the wreck of a bus. Not just civilians—at least three of them were fighting back. One woman held a flaming metal pipe that burned like a torch but never consumed itself. A man lifted chunks of rubble with a single hand and hurled them at a Krythar soldier. Another teen swung his arm, and blades of wind sliced through the smoke.
Awakened.
Eren's breath caught. It wasn't just him.
The Krythar soldier roared, charging the group, its blade raised high. The people screamed—some running, some frozen in terror.
Eren didn't think. His body moved before his brain did.
He sprinted out from the alley, his heart hammering, his hand shooting forward.
That invisible pressure slammed into the alien's blade, knocking it aside with a clang. The soldier staggered, giving the fire-wielding woman the opening she needed. She rammed her burning pipe straight into its chest, and the creature collapsed in a hiss of smoke.
The street went quiet again, save for the crackle of flames.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Eren froze under their eyes. Sweat dripped down his temple. His chest was still rising and falling like he'd run a marathon.
"…Uh. Hi."
The teen with the wind power narrowed his eyes.
"You're awakened."
Eren scratched the back of his neck, forcing a crooked grin.
"Yeah, uh… that's new."
The woman with the pipe stepped forward, firelight reflecting in her determined eyes.
"Then you fight with us. Or none of us survive."
Eren swallowed hard, staring at the flames, the bodies, the alien ships blotting out the sky.
He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a hero. He was just Eren Vale—street rat, screw-up, sandwich enthusiast.
But when he looked at those people—scared, desperate, clinging to survival—something inside him tightened.
"...Fine," he muttered. Then, louder:
"Let's make these freaks regret landing here."
For the first time since the sky broke, Eren felt something heavier than fear.
He felt purpose.