2. Mordakus

2

MORDAKUS

T he sun beats down mercilessly on the barren wasteland that stretches before me, a vast expanse of desolation that was once a thriving village. I trudge forward, each step kicking up small clouds of dust that cling to my boots and settle on my parched skin. The horizon shimmers with heat, creating mirages that taunt me with false promises of water and shelter.

My throat is raw, screaming for moisture. I reach for my canteen, knowing full well it's been empty for hours. The familiar weight of disappointment settles in my gut as I shake the container, hearing nothing but the faint rattle of dust particles inside. I've been rationing my water for days, but in this unforgiving landscape, even the most carefully planned supplies run out eventually.

I pause, taking a moment to survey my surroundings. The ruins of human civilization litter the landscape. Nature, in its relentless march, has begun to reclaim these remnants.

My hand absently traces the rough edge where half of my left horn used to be. The phantom pain, a constant companion, flares up as memories threaten to surface. I push them back down, burying them deep where they can't distract me from the task at hand: survival.

As I continue my journey, my eyes constantly scan the horizon, searching for any sign of life or potential danger.

Old habits die hard, I suppose.

When Galmoleth was attacked by the demons from Aerasak – though I supposed I remember now we were all from there – some demons fled to the new planet and some stayed on the floating island. Others, though, escaped here to Protheka, where they could take humans as they liked and unleash their deadly behaviors upon the unsuspecting races that weren't ready for them to raze the continent to the ground. It was a disorganized attack, though, and I'm not sure of their reach or where those demons are now.

The sun begins its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. I need to find shelter soon.

Nights in the wasteland are as treacherous as they are cold, and I've learned the hard way that exposed areas are death traps when darkness falls.

Just as I'm about to give up hope and settle for a semi-defensible position among some ruins, something catches my eye. A flicker of movement, barely perceptible in the growing shadows. I freeze, every muscle in my body tensing as I strain my senses to their limit.

There it is again - a subtle shift in the landscape that doesn't quite fit. My heart rate quickens as I realize what I'm seeing: a carefully camouflaged compound, hidden so well that I almost missed it entirely. After days of solitude, the prospect of encountering other beings - whether friend or foe - sends a jolt of adrenaline through my system.

I approach cautiously, my mind racing through possible scenarios. Is it a trap set by scavengers? A demon outpost? Or perhaps... other creatures? Dark elves? Orcs? The thought of finding other living beings after so long on my own is almost overwhelming.

As I draw closer, I catch a glimpse of something that stops me in my tracks. Plants. Not the withered specimens that dot the wasteland, but lush, green, thriving vegetation. The sight is so unexpected, so out of place in this desolate world, that for a moment I wonder if I'm hallucinating from dehydration.

But no, it's real. And where there are healthy plants, there must be water. My parched throat constricts at the thought, and I have to forcibly restrain myself from rushing forward. Caution has kept me alive this long; I won't abandon it now, no matter how desperate I am.

I circle the compound, looking for weak points or signs of recent activity. That's when I see her – a small figure tending to the plants with a care and devotion that seems almost impossible in this harsh world. A young woman stands amidst the greenery. Her long dark hair falls in waves down her back, and even from this distance, I can see the gentleness in her movements as she cares for her garden.

As if sensing my presence, the woman suddenly looks up. Our eyes meet across the distance, and I see fear bloom in her baby blue eyes. She clutches something to her chest - a small hairy creature - as if it's her most prized possession. The fear in her gaze stirs something inside me, a protective instinct I thought I'd long since buried.

I step out from my hiding place, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. It's been so long since I've had to interact with anyone, let alone a frightened human. I raise my hands, palms out, in what I hope is a universal gesture of peace.

"You can't stay here," I call out, wincing at how gruff my voice sounds after so long of disuse. "It's not safe."

She shrinks back, her grip on the kitten tightening. I can see the internal struggle playing out across her face. This place is clearly her home. But it won't protect her for much longer.

I take a step closer, careful to move slowly. "Look," I try again, making an effort to soften my tone. "Demons are advancing. They'll reach this place soon. You need to leave."

The girl's eyes widen in fear, and she backs away until she's pressed against the wall of her makeshift shelter, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape route. "No," she whispers, shaking her head vigorously. "No, I... I can't leave. This is my home. It's safe here."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration. How can I make her understand the danger she's in?

"It won't be safe for much longer," I explain, trying to keep my voice calm and even. "The demon troops are coming. They're rounding up survivors. You don't want to be here when they arrive."

She shakes her head again, more frantically this time. "No, no, no," she mutters, her voice barely audible. "They won't find me. I'm hidden. I'm safe."

I can see I'm not getting through to her. Her fear is too deeply ingrained, her attachment to this place too strong.

I need a different approach.

Slowly, I reach into my pack, my movements deliberate and non-threatening. The girl watches me warily, still refusing to meet my eyes. I pull out a small package of dried meat - one of the last bits of food I have.

"Here," I say softly, unwrapping the package. I tear off a small piece and hold it out to the small animal. "For your little friend there."

Its nose twitches, and it stretches out to sniff at the offering. After a moment's hesitation, it takes the morsel, gobbling it down eagerly.

I notice the girl watching the interaction intently, her grip on the creature loosening slightly. There's a flicker of something in her eyes - hunger, perhaps, or longing for some sort of connection.

An idea forms in my mind. It's not ideal, but it might be the only way to get her out of here safely. "I'll tell you what," I say, my tone firmer now but still not unkind. "I'm claiming you as mine."

Her head snaps up at that, fear flashing across her face once more.

"Where I'm taking you is to be determined," I continue quickly, before she can panic. "But right now, I need you to pack up everything you can carry. Essentials only - food, water, any medicines you might have. And... whatever you need for the animal."

She blinks at me, confusion replacing some of the fear in her eyes. "C-claiming me?" she stammers.

I nod, trying to look authoritative. "That's right. You're my prisoner now, which means you have to follow my orders. And my orders are: you're coming with me."

It's a gamble, I know. But sometimes, people find it easier to follow orders than to make their own choices in terrifying situations.

And right now, what this girl needs most is to leave this place, whether she realizes it or not.

"You have one hour to pack," I say, my tone dropping lower. "Take only what you absolutely need. I'll be back to check on you."

With that, I turn and walk a short distance away, giving her some space to process.

I can only hope this approach works.

Because one way or another, I'm not leaving her here to face the coming storm alone.

I'm not a monster.