The whispers of the forest enveloped Eren as he approached the rebel camp. The night air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and the faintest hint of coming rain. Eren moved soundlessly, slipping through the trees like a wraith, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every step he took was a reminder of the choice he was about to make—the betrayal he was about to commit.

Lyanna sat alone near the edge of the camp, her back to him as she tended to a small fire. A single candle burned beside her, casting soft light over her hands, which held a vial of herbs she was preparing for a sick child in the camp. She was humming a quiet, soothing tune, her voice almost swallowed by the night.

Eren's hand trembled as he unsheathed his dagger. Azrael's words echoed in his mind, his command to eliminate her and erase any semblance of hope within the rebellion. But as he looked at Lyanna, her gentle, unassuming form surrounded by the fire's glow, he felt a pang of something he had almost forgotten—remorse.

He had to act before his resolve shattered completely.

"Eren?" Her voice was soft, barely audible over the crackle of the flames. She hadn't turned around, yet she knew he was there.

Eren froze, caught between action and retreat. His throat tightened, the weight of the dagger in his hand growing unbearable.

"You're not here just to talk, are you?" Lyanna's voice was calm, resigned, as if she had already accepted the fate that awaited her. She finally looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, filled not with fear but with understanding.

Eren struggled for words, his mind spiraling. "Lyanna... I..."

She smiled sadly, setting down the vial. "They sent you, didn't they? To silence me. I suppose I should have seen it coming."

He felt his grip slacken, his fingers growing numb. Every instinct told him to complete the task, to drive the blade into her heart and be done with it. But something in her gaze held him, anchoring him in place.

"I didn't choose this," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I never wanted this."

"None of us did," she replied, her gaze softening. "But sometimes, the choices we make aren't about what we want—they're about what we're willing to live with."

Eren's hand dropped to his side, the dagger slipping from his grasp, clattering softly against the forest floor. The sound seemed deafening in the stillness of the night. He couldn't do it. Not to her. Not to the one person who had shown him kindness when all he had known was darkness.

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There's still light in you, Eren. I can see it."

Her words were a balm, soothing the raw wound that had festered within him for so long. He had fought so hard to bury the man he once was, to let the darkness consume him entirely. But in that moment, standing under the weight of her gaze, he felt the smallest flicker of the person he used to be.

"Leave," he said finally, his voice raw. "Get as far from here as you can. Azrael... he won't stop. You have to go, Lyanna."

She hesitated, her hand slipping from his shoulder. "And what about you?"

Eren looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "I'm not worth saving."

But before he could step back, she reached up, pressing something small and cold into his hand—a silver pendant, engraved with symbols he couldn't understand. Her fingers lingered, a touch that felt both grounding and freeing.

"This is a protection charm," she murmured. "For when the darkness feels too heavy to bear. And remember, Eren, no one is beyond saving. Not even you."

And then, without another word, she turned and vanished into the forest, leaving him alone in the clearing, clutching the pendant in his hand.

---

When Eren returned to Azrael's quarters, his clothes were drenched from the rain that had begun to pour as he left the forest. He felt empty, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he couldn't contain. But he had to keep up the lie—had to play his part if he was to survive.

Azrael was seated by the hearth, his dark eyes watching Eren with an intensity that made his skin crawl. "Well?" he asked, his voice low and expectant.

Eren held out a vial filled with crimson liquid—animal blood, hastily gathered on his way back. He met Azrael's gaze, forcing his expression to remain blank. "It's done," he said, his voice steady.

Azrael's lips curled into a smile. "Good. I expected nothing less from you, Eren."

But something in Azrael's gaze shifted, as if he sensed a change in Eren, a weakness he hadn't noticed before. Azrael's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with suspicion. "You didn't hesitate, did you?"

Eren's pulse raced, but he kept his face impassive. "She was a threat to everything you've built, my lord. I eliminated that threat. Nothing more."

Azrael studied him for a long moment, and Eren could feel the weight of the Shadow Lord's scrutiny. But finally, Azrael nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Very well. Your loyalty has been proven."

Eren inclined his head, fighting the urge to let out a sigh of relief. He had bought himself time—just a little more time to figure out his next move.

---

The days that followed were filled with tension as word of Lyanna's "disappearance" spread through the rebels. Murmurs of discontent grew, whispers of resistance sparking like embers, fueled by the void left by her absence. Alaric looked at Eren with suspicion, his once-warm gaze now filled with a cold, wary distance.

Eren bore the weight of their distrust in silence, knowing that his deception had placed him further from the allies he desperately needed. But even as the walls closed in around him, he clung to the silver pendant Lyanna had given him, the memory of her words a fragile anchor.

In the depths of the night, when he was alone in his quarters, Eren would trace the pendant's intricate symbols, feeling the faint pulse of power within. It was a reminder—a reminder that perhaps, somewhere beneath the layers of darkness, there was still a spark of the man he used to be.

But he couldn't afford to let that spark ignite. Not now. Not when he was so close to bringing Azrael down. He had chosen his path, and there was no turning back.

And yet, as he stared into the shadows, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a line that grew thinner with each passing day—a line between salvation and damnation, between the man he had become and the man he had once been.

For now, he would continue to play his part. But deep down, he knew that his choice had set something into motion—a quiet rebellion, a flicker of hope that refused to be snuffed out.

And in a world ruled by darkness, even the smallest light could be deadly.