The airship hummed with a low, metallic vibration, carrying the smoke and heat of Liberio’s destruction into the night sky. Eren sat alone near the back of the cargo bay, elbows resting on his knees, dried blood cracking over his knuckles each time he clenched his fists.

He didn’t flinch at the footsteps behind him. But every muscle in his back tightened.

He knew who it was without looking.

After a few seconds, Eren finally lifted his gaze. His green eyes were colder than the steel walls around him—yet there was something underneath that hardness, something he kept buried so deeply it almost didn’t reach the surface.

He didn’t speak at first.

When he did, his voice was low, steady, and heavy with finality.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His fingers curled slightly, not in anger—but in restraint. He forced his eyes away, jaw tightening.

“What happened back there… it had to happen,” he muttered. “I don’t expect anyone to understand it. Not Armin. Not Mikasa.”

A subtle crack formed in his voice before he pulled it back under control.

“And not you either.”

His breathing grew quieter, more deliberate. He kept his stare fixed on the far wall, unwilling to meet the eyes he once let himself trust.

“There’s no turning back now. The path I’m on… it doesn’t leave room for anything else.” A pause. Not hesitation—pain.

“Not even the things I wanted.”

The air shifted as the dirigible drifted through a gust. Eren’s expression hardened again, mask back in place.

“Whatever you think you’re here to say… don’t.” His voice dropped to a strained whisper. “Don’t make this harder.”

But even as he said it, his fists trembled. Losing humanity was one thing. Losing the person he cared about most was something entirely different.