The trek back to the district was a slow, grueling process. Aden draped Eren's limp arm over his shoulder, the boy's weight pulling at his center of gravity with every step. The adrenaline that had fueled the breakthrough had evaporated, leaving Eren in a state of profound exhaustion, a cultivation coma where the body prioritized the reweaving of meridians over conscious thought.
The outskirts of Grey-Rock were no longer silent. The pillar of crimson light had acted as a beacon, and as they crossed the threshold where the ruins met the newly paved streets, Aden noticed the shift in the air. People were peering out of half-opened shutters. A few low-ranked guards stood at a street corner, whispering frantically and pointing toward the wasteland they had just vacated.
Aden pulled his hood deeper, the fabric shielding his sapphire eyes. He didn't want a confrontation, not with a dead-weight apprentice in tow.
