Thorne lay sprawled on the cold, hard floor, the icy stone sapping what little strength he had left. His body was racked with shudders, not just from the chill, but from the overwhelming despair that clung to him like a shroud. His mind was a tumultuous sea of anguish, and every attempt to draw a steady breath felt like a battle.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold the pieces of his shattered psyche together. The visions had torn through him, leaving him raw and exposed. The accusations and recriminations from his mother, sister, and Uncle echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving. Each word had been a blow, stripping away his defenses and leaving him bleeding with regret.

The biting cold of the stone floor seemed to seep into his very soul, amplifying the emptiness that threatened to consume him. His hands, pressed against the rough surface, sought something solid to cling to, some anchor to keep him from being swept away by the torrent of his emotions. He felt small and insignificant, a child lost in the vastness of his own pain.

Every muscle in his body ached as he lay there, overwhelmed by the relentless tide of his emotions. The strength that had carried him through so many battles felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the crushing weight of his guilt and despair. He felt like he was drowning, unable to breathe, unable to find a way out of the darkness that enveloped him.

For a long time, Thorne lay there, motionless, as the storm of his emotions raged on. But somewhere deep inside, a small spark of defiance flickered. He had faced death before, had fought against impossible odds, and had survived. He couldn’t let his past destroy him now.

With a monumental effort, Thorne forced himself to take slow, steady breaths, focusing on the present, on the reality of the cold stone beneath him and the sound of his own breathing. He needed to ground himself, to find some semblance of stability amidst the chaos.

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, every movement a painful struggle. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the emotional toll of the visions. But he couldn't stay on the floor forever. He had to rise, had to move forward, even if every step felt like an insurmountable challenge.

Leaning against the wall for support, Thorne managed to sit up, wiping his tear-streaked face with a shaking hand. The room around him was still and silent, the eerie glow casting long, mocking shadows. He couldn't let the visions break him. He had to be stronger than his past, stronger than the pain that threatened to consume him.

A piercing scream shattered the suffocating silence, jolting Thorne out of his spiraling thoughts. The sound was raw, filled with an agony so profound it seemed to reverberate through his very bones. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned sharply toward the source of the harrowing cry.

His breath caught. Eren was crouched over Jax's lifeless body, his trembling hands locked in a death grip around Jax's neck. The veins in Eren's arms bulged with the force of his hold, and his face was a mask of unrelenting fury and despair. The sight sent an icy dagger of horror plunging into Thorne’s gut.

"Eren!" Thorne's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it was laced with urgency. He forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He stumbled towards Eren, his mind racing with fear and confusion. What had happened? How had things gone so wrong?

As he closed the distance, the full extent of the horror became clear. Jax’s face was slack, his once defiant eyes lifeless and staring into the void. Purple bruises marred his neck, darkening with each passing second. Eren’s hands remained locked in place, his fingers digging deep into the skin, his body trembling with the ferocity of his grip.

Eren's face was twisted in a mix of fury and desperation, his eyes wide and unseeing. He was deep in the throes of a vision, lost in a nightmare that had taken complete control.

"Eren, stop! It's not real!" Thorne's voice wavered with desperation. He grabbed Eren by the shoulders and shook him, but the other boy didn’t even flinch. Eren’s eyes were unfocused, wild, locked in some unseen nightmare that held him prisoner. His lips moved, mouthing words filled with terror and rage.

"No! I'll never let you hurt me again!" Eren's voice was a tortured whisper, filled with a pain that cut Thorne to the core. "Never touch me again!"

Desperation clawed at Thorne as he fought to bring Eren back to reality. He tightened his grip on Eren's shoulders, shaking him harder. "Eren, it's me! Thorne! You have to wake up!"

Eren's eyes were wild, unseeing, locked in a battle that Thorne couldn't reach. His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his face contorted in a mix of fear and rage. Thorne’s mind raced, panic clawing at him as he struggled to bring Eren back from the brink.

"Please, Eren," Thorne begged, his voice breaking. "Come back to me. It's not real. Jax needs you to stop."

For a heart-stopping moment, Thorne feared he’d lost him. But then, as if his words had finally pierced the darkness, Eren’s grip began to falter. His trembling fingers slackened, and the tension in his shoulders collapsed like a dam breaking under the weight of a flood.

Eren’s wild eyes blinked, the haze of his nightmare slowly lifting. His gaze locked onto Thorne’s, filled with confusion and terror. His lips trembled as he whispered, “Thorne? Is it really you?”

Thorne nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Yes, Eren, it's me. You're safe now. Let go of Jax."

Eren's hands dropped to his sides as he sagged forward, collapsing into Thorne's arms. His body convulsed with sobs, his anguish spilling out in a torrent of cries that echoed through the room. Thorne wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly as if his grip alone could keep Eren from shattering completely.

Thorne’s gaze flicked to Jax’s still form, the sight sending another wave of guilt and sorrow crashing over him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the enormity of the situation settle in his chest.

Eren looked down at Jax's lifeless body, his eyes widening in horror. His breath came in ragged gasps as the realization of what he had done washed over him. "No... no, no, no," he whispered, his voice shaking. "What have I done?"

He began to tremble violently, his hands shaking as he reached out, almost afraid to touch Jax. "I didn't mean to... I thought... he was... oh gods, what have I done?" His voice rose to a wail, the sound filled with such raw pain that it seemed to reverberate off the walls.

Thorne tightened his grip on Eren, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "It wasn't your fault, Eren. It was the vision. You didn't know. You weren't in control."

But Eren was inconsolable. "I killed him, Thorne! I killed Jax!" He clutched at his hair, pulling at it as if trying to rip out the memories. "I thought I was saving myself, but I... I took his life. I... I can't... I can't live with this."

He doubled over, his sobs turning into gut-wrenching cries that echoed through the room. Thorne held him tightly, feeling utterly helpless in the face of his friend's agony. Eren's cries grew louder, more desperate, his body shaking with the force of his grief.

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"It's my fault," Eren moaned, his voice breaking. "I should have known. I should have fought it. But I was too weak. I let it control me. And now Jax is dead because of me."

Thorne's own tears fell freely as he listened to Eren's words. He knew the torment his friend was going through, the unbearable weight of guilt and regret. He wanted to tell Eren that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have known, but the words felt hollow in the face of such profound grief.

"Eren," Thorne said softly, his voice choked with emotion. "We have to keep going. We have to find a way out of here."

Eren shook his head, his sobs continuing unabated. "I can't, Thorne. I can't go on. Not after this. I don't deserve to. I killed him. I killed Jax."

Thorne pulled Eren closer, holding him as tightly as he could. "You do deserve to go on, Eren. We all make mistakes, especially in a place like this. But we have to keep fighting. For Jax. For each other. We can't let this place win."

Slowly, Eren's sobs began to quiet, but the haunted look in his eyes remained. He nodded weakly, though Thorne could see that the weight of what had happened would not lift easily. Together, they rose, leaning on each other for support.

As they stood, a sudden, low rumble echoed through the room. The eerie glow of the walls began to fade, dimming into nothingness. The oppressive atmosphere that had hung over them like a suffocating blanket seemed to lift, replaced by an uneasy stillness. Thorne and Eren exchanged a wary glance.

A door appeared on the far wall, materializing out of the shadows. It was a simple wooden door, its presence oddly out of place in the cold, stone chamber. The sight of it filled Thorne with a mixture of hope and dread. He felt a flicker of relief at the prospect of an escape, but an ominous feeling gnawed at his gut.

"We have to keep going," Thorne said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He took a step toward the door, his legs still unsteady. Eren followed, his eyes darting around the now-darkened room, as if expecting another vision to spring to life at any moment.

They reached the door and pushed it open, finding themselves in a fighting arena. The walls were lined with steel bars, creating a cage-like structure. Beyond the bars were stands filled with spectators. The spectators were older, wearing the same dark uniform. They sat idly talking in low voices, their expressions unreadable in the dim light.

Thorne's eyes scanned the arena, taking in the details. The floor was covered in packed dirt, stained dark in places where blood had been spilled. Torches mounted on the walls flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced across the stands. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

In one section of the stands, a group of teens around Thorne's age huddled together. Some looked vacantly into space, clutching their weapons as if they were lifelines. Others tended to their wounds, grimacing with pain but resolute. A few were talking animatedly with each other, as if they were having fun, their laughter jarring in the grim setting.

Before Thorne could react, a man entered the cage. It was the mysterious man who had fought with Thorne earlier, his presence commanding and intimidating. He stepped forward, a cold smile playing on his lips.

“Welcome,” the man said, his smooth, menacing voice filling the arena. His eyes swept over Thorne and Eren, lingering on them with a predatory glint.

“This,” he continued, gesturing to the arena around them, “is your final test. Only one of you will leave this place alive. The one who survives will have proven their worth and will join our ranks.”

Thorne’s heart sank, the weight of the words hitting him like a physical blow. His hands instinctively clenched into fists at his sides, his mind racing as he tried to find a way out of this nightmare.

The man turned and motioned to the teens in the stands. “These,” he said, his tone almost mocking, “are those who have passed before you. Each one of them stood where you stand now. They fought, they survived, and now they serve. They are your future—if you live to see it.”

Eren, who had been quiet and detached since his sobs had died down, looked at the man with cold, empty eyes. The transformation was shocking. It was as if he had simply shut down, going through the motions without any emotion.

The man stepped back, crossing his arms as his cold smile widened. “The test begins now.”

The steel bars of the cage slammed shut behind them, the sound reverberating through the arena like a death knell.

Thorne turned to Eren, his voice trembling. "We can't do this, Eren. There has to be another way."

Before Thorne could reason with him, Eren's hand darted forward, snatching the dagger from Thorne’s sheath. The suddenness of the movement startled Thorne, and he barely registered the glint of the blade before Eren lunged at him.

"Eren, no!" Thorne shouted, stepping back, but the blade bit into his side. Pain exploded through him, sharp and immediate, forcing a grunt from his lips. He staggered, clutching his side, his eyes locked onto Eren.

Eren's face was a mask of desperation and fear, his trembling hands barely able to steady the dagger. Yet, there was something fierce in his eyes, a burning resolve that hadn’t been there moments before. "I don't want to die, Thorne," Eren said, his voice raw and trembling. "I've already killed someone. One more life... it’s just another step if it means I survive."

Thorne arched an eyebrow despite the pain, caught between surprise and grim amusement. A minute ago, this boy had been sniveling, clutching his shield like a lifeline. Now, desperation had ignited a dangerous spark in him. Yet even with the dagger in hand, Thorne knew Eren was no match for him.

Eren lunged again, the dagger flashing in the dim light, but Thorne sidestepped effortlessly. His movements were measured, his superior training and attributes turning the desperate strikes into little more than flailing. Each attack was deflected with ease, but Thorne didn’t strike back.

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “You chose violence and strife. You are nothing but a harbinger of pain.” The memory of her face, twisted in anger, was fresh, her accusation cutting deeper than any blade. He had sworn, after the Gravedigger, that he would never take another life.

The few times he had fought since then, he had always chosen to incapacitate his opponents rather than kill them. He couldn't live with the guilt of taking a life. He had already too much guilt inside him to be burdened with more.

Eren continued his frenzied assault, tears streaming down his face as desperation fueled his every move. Thorne deflected each strike, twisting Eren’s wrist at the right moment and sending the dagger clattering to the floor. He could feel Eren's strength waning, the boy’s sobs growing louder with each failed attempt.

“Finish it!” the mysterious man barked from the shadows, his voice slicing through the tense air. “Or neither of you will walk out of here.”

The moment of distraction was enough for Eren to trip Thorne, Eren dropped low, sweeping Thorne’s legs from under him. Thorne hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs as Eren scrambled for the fallen dagger.

Eren’s weight bore down on him as he straddled Thorne, just as he had done with Jax, the dagger trembling in his grasp. The blade’s cold edge pressed against Thorne’s chest. “I have to do this,” Eren whispered, his voice cracking. His tears dripped onto Thorne’s face. “I can’t die, Thorne. I can’t let it end like this.”

Eren raised the dagger, his hand shaking violently. Thorne’s mind raced, the weight of the moment crushing down on him. He didn’t want to kill Eren. The boy was terrified, driven by fear and a survival instinct that mirrored Thorne’s own in darker times.

But there was no choice.

In one fluid motion, Thorne twisted his body, his hands shooting up to grab Eren’s wrist. His strength overpowered Eren’s faltering grip, twisting the dagger back towards its wielder. Eren gasped, his eyes widening in shock as the blade plunged into his chest.

The light in Eren’s eyes flickered and faded, his body going limp atop Thorne. A shallow, choking breath escaped Eren’s lips, and then silence.

Thorne shoved the body aside with a snarl of frustration, the sound reverberating in the eerie stillness. He stood, his chest heaving, his hand pressing against the wound in his side. Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling near Eren’s lifeless body.

The man nodded, his voice indifferent. “Welcome to the family.” Thorne bared his teeth at the man’s words.

"Pick up the dagger. From now on, it is your only weapon until you earn a better one."

Thorne hesitated, his mind reeling from the events that had just transpired. The man continued, his voice cold and unyielding. "If you want to survive, you will need a weapon. But it is your choice, your life."

Thorne’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated every word, hated the man’s indifference, hated the situation he had been forced into. But survival demanded choices, and Thorne had made his.

He turned back to Eren’s body, his stomach twisting in disgust. Without looking at the boy’s face, he crouched and gripped the hilt of the dagger. It slid free with a sickening sound, the motion making bile rise in Thorne’s throat.

He stood, blood dripping from the dagger as he held it loosely in his hand. His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to stand tall, his shoulders squared despite the weight of what he had done.

With slow, deliberate steps, Thorne walked past the man, his head held high, his eyes burning with defiance. Each step echoed through the cage, a reminder that he was still standing, still alive.