The wind was colder now.
Not from weather, but from the weight of the moment. Syra's warning echoed in Eren's ears like a distant war drum. Three days. That was the measure of his worth the time he had to prove himself not a threat, but something greater. Or risk death at the hands of a stranger trained to end bearers like him.
Eren sat beside the campfire, staring into the flames. They danced like living things, but held no warmth. Akreth lay beside him, silent and heavy, its runes dulled to a slow heartbeat.
Across from him, Elira sharpened her blade. She hadn't said much since Syra left. Her movements were mechanical, but her eyes flicked toward him more often now.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"She means it."
Elira didn't look up. "She's Silver Veil. They never bluff."
"What do they expect me to do in three days?" Eren asked. "Fall to my knees? Surrender the sword?"
"They expect you to break," she replied. "Or burn."
Eren exhaled sharply, gripping his knees. "I'm tired of proving myself. To the Circle. To the sword. To ghosts and gods and voices in the dark. What about what I want?"
She looked at him for a long moment. "Then you'd better figure out what that is. Fast."
They broke camp early and moved quickly, the trail winding through rocky cliffs and narrow ravines that echoed with old winds. On the second day, they reached a valley where an old watchtower stood long abandoned, its stone eaten by moss and time.
There, they stopped.
"Syra's watching us," Elira said as they built a fire. "Not close. But I can feel her."
Eren unsheathed Akreth and ran a cloth over the blade, more for thought than care. "She doesn't want to kill me. Not yet."
"No," Elira agreed. "She wants you to prove the Silver Veil wrong."
He looked up at her. "And if I don't?"
"She'll make you a name carved in stone," Elira said quietly.
That night, the dreams returned.
This time, he wasn't in fire. He was in a field of stars, and they whispered names to him dozens of them. Bearers. Every one who had carried Akreth before. Every one who had fallen.
He saw Cael again. Standing in a void, hand outstretched. His eyes were gold. His expression peaceful.
"You can still choose," Cael said.
Eren reached out.
Then woke up.
On the third morning, Syra appeared again.
She walked out of the mist without fanfare, hood down, hair tied back. No weapons drawn.
Eren stood before she reached the camp.
"You're early," he said.
She shrugged. "You've had two days. That's long enough to show something."
Elira rose beside him, but Syra lifted a hand. "This is not a test of strength. It's a test of soul."
Eren crossed his arms. "And how exactly do I prove a soul to a stranger?"
She stepped closer, her eyes not hostile but cold.
"Tell me what the sword has shown you."
He hesitated. Then said, "A man who burned everything for love. A woman who begged me to stop. A fire that's alive, and waiting."
"Do you want it?"
"No," Eren said. "But it wants me."
Syra's gaze sharpened. "And will you give yourself to it?"
Eren didn't speak for a moment.
Then slowly, "No. I'll use it. I'll carry it. But it doesn't own me."
Syra stepped forward until she stood within arm's reach.
Then, without warning, she drew a knife and slashed across her palm.
Elira stepped forward, but Syra ignored her, pressing the bleeding hand to the pommel of Akreth.
The sword hissed. The runes flared.
And Eren felt a jolt, as if the blade had sniffed her.
Then rejected her.
Syra withdrew her hand and wrapped it in cloth.
"That's your answer," she said. "It didn't take me. Which means it's still tied to you."
Eren blinked. "You were testing... yourself?"
She nodded. "I had to know. If I could carry it, I would've killed you. But I can't. The sword has chosen."
She turned, walking back into the mist.
Elira called after her. "Then you're letting him live?"
Syra looked back only once.
"For now."