The dust of the shattered divinity settled, coating the obsidian floor in a fine, white powder that refused to glow. In the center of the chamber, the central axle hummed—a deep, rhythmic thrum that matched Eren's heartbeat.
Aden stood slowly, his joints popping like dry wood. He leaned on his dark steel blade, his gaze lingering on the boy. "You've done more than just restart a clock, Eren. You've claimed a throne made of teeth and silence. The Church won't send monks next time. They'll send a crusade."
"Let them," Eren said, standing up. His voice was no longer a boy's; it was a layered harmony of human grit and ancient static. He turned to the shadows where the other Vassals were emerging from the machinery.
