5 King's Foe, Forged in The Shadow

Weeks bled into a blur of rain, gnawing hunger, and the constant, heart-pounding need to hide. Eren had abandoned any pretense of traveling with purpose. Survival was the only objective, and that meant avoiding any sign of civilization, any hint of the King's reach.

He subsisted on foraged roots, snared rabbits, the occasional stolen chicken from a remote farmstead. The forest, once a place of solace, now felt like a prison. Its shadows seemed to whisper threats, and every rustle of leaves sent adrenaline surging through his veins. Sleep became a luxury he could ill afford, his dreams haunted by the relentless clang of armor and the blacksmith's lifeless eyes.

His clothes hung in tatters, barely offering protection against the elements. The stolen horse had long since succumbed to exhaustion, leaving him to stumble on blistered feet. His reflection in a murky stream revealed a gaunt, haunted stranger, his face etched with desperation. This was not the Eren Yeager who had fought Titans, who had believed in causes worth dying for. This was barely a shadow of a man, a creature clawing for another day of miserable existence.

Yet, even at his lowest, a stubborn spark flickered within him. The King's men might hunt him, might drive him to the ends of the earth, but they would not break him.

He began to observe, to study the land with new eyes. He learned to distinguish between the footfalls of animals and the purposeful stride of human trackers. He noticed the ways birds scattered, their panicked chirps an early warning system of approaching danger.

One moonless night, silhouetted against the stars, Eren came across a flickering campfire. The scent of roasting meat drew him closer, his hunger overriding caution. From the shadows, he observed the occupants – a group of rough-looking men, their clothes mismatched, their weapons an assortment of scavenged blades and hunting tools. Deserters? Common bandits?

It didn't matter. He was beyond caring about laws and allegiances. In this cruel world, where Kings executed innocent men and forged alliances burned to ashes, there was only one rule that mattered: survive. This was his chance, whether it was a chance at survival or a swift death, it remained to be seen but something was drawing him towards them.

Curiosity battled with caution as Eren crouched in the undergrowth, eyes fixed on the flickering firelight. Three figures sat around it, bulky silhouettes against the dancing flames. Their voices, though muffled, carried through the stillness of the night.

"Orders were clear," one voice, gruff and laced with frustration, grumbled. "Search every hovel, every barn. That damned foreign spy can't have vanished into thin air."

"Aye, Ser Desmond," another voice responded, younger and tinged with a hint of nervousness. "We've scoured every corner of this damn backwater for a fortnight. Maybe he doubled back to Kings Landing, slipped through our net."

A third voice, colder and more calculating, cut through the discussion. "Unlikely. He wouldn't risk exposure in the capital. He'll be holed up somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to cause trouble again."

Eren's heart hammered against his ribs. These weren't bandits; they were soldiers, King's men hunting him. A surge of anger burned alongside the fear. They had driven him to this, reduced him to a hunted animal. And they had condemned Boros, the kind man who had offered him shelter, to an unthinkable end.

The soldiers continued their conversation, their voices filled with a morbid curiosity. "...burned alive, they say," one whispered.

"The old blacksmith," another added, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Said he was harboring a fugitive, didn't know his own head from a hole in the ground."

Eren's blood ran cold. Boros, the gentle man who had offered him a roof and a meal, was gone, reduced to ashes because of him. The firelight seemed to dance with a macabre glee, mocking his despair. The anger simmering within him threatened to boil over.

He wouldn't run anymore. He wouldn't hide. Tonight, in the flickering shadows of the wild, a decision hardened within him. These three, these representatives of the King's cruelty, would pay for what they had done. Tonight, Eren Yeager, the hunted, would become the hunter.

Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting an ethereal glow on the scene before Eren. The three figures around the campfire sat in a relaxed posture, fatigue etched on their faces. Their weapons lay haphazardly on the ground, a testament to their waning vigilance. The anger that had simmered within Eren for weeks now reached a boiling point. These men, mere pawns in a game far bigger than themselves, were symbols of the cruelty that had driven him to this desolate existence.

He crept closer, moving with a stealth honed by weeks of desperate survival. The flickering flames cast grotesque shadows that danced across his face, a mask of grim determination. He reached for a fallen dagger, its dull gleam barely perceptible in the moonlight.

The closest soldier, a hulking man with a thick beard, snored softly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Eren moved with a swiftness born of desperation, his body a coiled spring finally released. He clamped a hand over the man's mouth, stifling the startled shout that rose in his throat.

The soldier's eyes snapped open, wide with terror as he recognized the glint of steel in Eren's hand. A muffled struggle ensued, a desperate dance in the darkness. Eren, fueled by a primal fury, overpowered the man, pressing the blade home with a sickening crunch. The soldier crumpled to the ground, his life extinguished in a single, brutal moment.

The sound of the struggle, however faint, jolted the other two soldiers awake. They scrambled to their feet, grabbing for their weapons. Eren, momentarily revealed by the flickering firelight, became their target.

"There he is!" one of them roared, his voice laced with a mixture of fear and rage. He lunged forward, a rusty broadsword held high. Eren, adrenaline surging through his veins, met the charge head-on.

The ensuing duel was a brutal dance of steel and desperation. The soldier, though surprised, was no novice. Years of training clashed with Eren's raw fury. Their blades clanged, sparks erupting as metal met metal. Eren's agility, honed by years of fighting Titans on his homeworld, gave him an edge. He moved like a phantom, dodging clumsy swings and exploiting every opening.

The fight was short, brutal, and decisive. With a final, desperate lunge, Eren disarmed the soldier, the blade clattering to the ground. The man stared at him, his eyes wide with terror, gasping for air as Eren pressed the tip of the stolen dagger against his throat and slitting it. Killing yet another man.

Eren hesitated, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He had become the monster he once fought. But the sight of Boros' charred remains flashed before his eyes, fueling his resolve. With a cold finality, he plunged the dagger into the soldier's throat. The man let out a choked gurgle, his eyes bulging before glazing over.

Eren stood amidst the carnage, the stench of blood and burning flesh thick in the air. The taste of metal filled his mouth, coppery and bitter. But the expected sense of victory didn't come. There was only a hollow emptiness, a chilling realization that killing these men had not brought Boros back. It hadn't erased the fear that gnawed at him, the fear that he was losing himself in this spiral of violence.

He looked at the lone surviving soldier, a young man who huddled on the ground, whimpering. Eren considered killing him too, silencing the last witness. But a spark of something, perhaps pity, perhaps a flicker of the old Eren who valued human life, stayed his hand.

"Go," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Tell the King your tale. Tell him that the fire is spreading. Tell him Eren Yeager is coming."

The young soldier scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with terror, and vanished into the darkness. Eren watched him go, a sense of desolation settling in his gut. He knew the King would send more men, their pursuit relentless. But this time, Eren wouldn't run. He wouldn't hide.

He needed allies, others who shared his hatred of the King's tyranny. He needed strength in numbers, a force to be reckoned with. And he knew just where to find them.

As dawn painted the eastern sky with streaks of orange and pink, Eren set off, his heart heavy but his resolve unwavering. He was no longer just a desperate fugitive. He was Eren Yeager, a survivor, a killer. And he was heading for the King's Wood, the place whispered about in taverns and the Knight tales.

The journey to the King's Wood was arduous. Days bled into one another, a monotonous blur of dusty roads, endless forests, and nights spent huddled beneath the unforgiving gaze of a thousand stars. Eren subsisted on stolen food and scavenged scraps, his body aching with fatigue but his spirit fueled by a burning desire for vengeance and a flicker of hope.

News of the King's escalating paranoia traveled faster than Eren. He learned of it from weary travelers, faces etched with fear as they spoke of the Mad King's latest atrocity. A bard, strung-out and nervous, recounted the tale of a messenger who dared contradict Aerys. The unfortunate man's tongue was ripped from his throat, his screams echoing through the Red Keep until only a strangled gurgling remained.

A group of merchants, their voices hushed and eyes darting, spoke of the recent burning of a blacksmith's shop in a remote village. The blacksmith, they whispered, was suspected of harboring a fugitive. Eren's heart clenched. Was this another victim of his own actions, another innocent caught in the crossfire? The guilt gnawed at him, a constant companion on his journey.

News of the King's cruelty reached its destination long before Eren did. King Aerys, his silver hair wild and his eyes burning with a feverish intensity, held court in the throne room. The young soldier, pale and shaking, knelt before him, his tale a stammering mess.

"He… he killed them," the soldier choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "All three of us. He… he said a message for you, Your Grace."

A cruel smile played on Aerys' lips. "Let us hear this message, then," he rasped, his voice laden with a dangerous amusement.

"He… he said… Eren Yeager is coming," the soldier blurted out, tears welling in his eyes.

The amusement vanished from Aerys' face, replaced by a sudden, terrifying fury. He slammed his fist down on the armrest of his throne, the sound echoing through the chamber.

"Eren Yeager!" he roared, the name a curse on his lips. "The foreign scum thinks he can defy me? He thinks he can hide in those wretched woods like a frightened rabbit?"

A vein throbbed on the side of Aerys' temple, his eyes burning with a maniacal glint. "Find him," he commanded, his voice a chilling snarl. "Find him and bring him back to me. I will have him drawn and quartered, his head displayed on a pike for all to see. I will show this… this… upstart what happens to those who oppose the King!"

The entire court watched in fearful silence as Aerys' rage erupted. Nobles shifted nervously in their seats, their eyes darting between the crazed king and the trembling soldier. Even the hardened members of the Kingsguard seemed to shrink under the weight of Aerys' madness.

Turning back to the soldier, Aerys' voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "And as for you, you worthless excuse for a warrior! You let a single man, a cornered animal, butcher your entire patrol! You are a disgrace to your oath, a stain on the honor of the Knights!"

With a flick of his wrist, Aerys ignited a small wildfire in his palm. The soldier screamed as flames engulfed his arm, his desperate pleas swallowed by the roar of the flames. The King held the soldier there, his eyes devoid of any human emotion, until the screams ceased and only the charred remains of a once-proud warrior remained.

Aerys extinguished the flames with a muttered curse, the sulfurous smell of burnt flesh filling the room. His gaze swept across the terrified faces of his court, a chilling calm replacing his earlier rage.

"This," he declared, his voice cold and clear, "is what happens to those who fail me. Remember this well."

The court bowed their heads in silent obedience. Eren Yeager's name hung heavy in the air, a new symbol of rebellion, a spark of defiance in a kingdom consumed by fear.

Eren, meanwhile, finally reached the edge of the King's Wood. The dense canopy of ancient trees stretched before him, a labyrinth of shadows and secrets. He had arrived, drawn by whispers of outcasts, bandits, and those who lived beyond the reach of the King's law. Here, in this untamed wilderness, Eren hoped to find the seeds of rebellion, the strength he needed to fight back against the Mad King. His journey had just begun.