What follows is not a clean journey. No perfect arc. No tidy redemption. Eren stumbles. He lashes out. He obsesses. He believes the only way to live is to destroy what threatens his freedom. And isn’t that familiar? That need to take control when everything feels uncontrollable. The anger that blooms from grief. The way pain can calcify into resolve. Eren is not strong because he is invincible. He is strong because he refuses to accept a world built on fear.

He dreams big. Too big. The walls are not just physical—they are generational. Political. Emotional. They are the lies we grow up with. The myths we cling to. And when Eren starts asking questions, when he starts peeling back the layers, we feel that too. The fear of the truth. The discomfort of waking up. The way you can love your home and still want to tear down the structures that built it.

In Eren Yeager, we see our rage. Our confusion. Our desperate hope that maybe, if we just fight hard enough, we can carve out something better. Not for glory. Not for revenge. But because we are tired of being caged. Eren is not a fantasy. He is the emotional reality of growing up in a world that was never fair. And that is why he stays with us. Why he matters. Why he hurts.