5. Eve

5

EVE

T he world outside my compound is more terrifying than I ever imagined. Every shadow seems to hide a potential threat, every sound a harbinger of danger. My heart races constantly, and I find myself clutching Vincent closer with each step we take.

Mordakus moves with a confidence I envy, seeming to know exactly where he's going even though everything looks the same to me - just endless stretches of rubble and ruin.

I wish I was as strong as him.

If I was that tall and that strong, I would only do good.

"Keep up," he barks over his shoulder, his voice gruff and impatient. I quicken my pace, wincing as my still-tender ankle protests.

"I'm trying," I mutter, more to myself than to him. Vincent mews softly, as if in encouragement, and I manage a small smile. At least I'm not completely alone in this.

Memories of my parents give me pause as we make our way through the ruins of a once bustling village. Even the smallest things remind me of them, like the flower growing in bundles outside of a destroyed home.

"What's the holdup?" Mordakus's sharp voice snaps me back to the present. He's standing a few feet ahead, looking back at me with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. "Sorry, I just... I thought about my parents just now. These flowers were my mother's favorite."

"Best not to dwell on it. It'll only slow you down."

His words sting, even though I know he probably means well. "It's not that simple," I argue, surprising myself with my boldness. "Our memories, our past... they're part of who we are. They can give us strength."

Mordakus snorts derisively. "Strength? On Protheka, sentiment is a weakness. The sooner you learn that, the better chance you have of surviving."

I fall silent, hurt by his dismissal. As we continue walking, I find myself wondering if I made the right choice in leaving with him.

Sure, he saved me from the advancing demon troops, but at what cost?

Am I trading one form of isolation for another?

The day wears on, and the landscape gradually changes. The ruins give way to overgrown fields, nature slowly reclaiming what was once hers. Despite my unease, I find myself fascinated by the plants we encounter.

"Look," I say, unable to contain my excitement as I spot a familiar leaf. "That's yupa. It has medicinal properties - it can help stop bleeding and fight infection."

Mordakus glances at the plant disinterestedly. "Unless it's edible or can keep us hidden from demons, I don't see how that's relevant."

I deflate a little at his response but press on. "But it could be useful if one of us gets hurt. And over there, those are meldroves. The leaves are edible and full of nutrients."

For a moment, I think I see a flicker of interest in Mordakus's eyes. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "Stick to watching where you're going," he says gruffly. "I'd rather avoid injuries in the first place."

I bite back a retort, frustration bubbling up inside me. Why can't he see that my knowledge could be valuable? That I'm not just his prisoner?

As if sensing my mood, Vincent squirms in my arms. I set him down, watching as he explores our surroundings with typical curiosity. His presence is a balm to my frayed nerves.

Suddenly, a low growl breaks the silence. I freeze, my eyes darting around frantically. There, emerging from the tall grass - a pack of feral batlaz, their ribs visible beneath matted fur, eyes wild with hunger.

"Mordakus!" I call out, my voice trembling with fear.

He's already moving, positioning himself between me and the advancing pack. "Stay behind me," he orders, his voice taut with tension.

But Vincent - oh gods, Vincent! He's wandered too far, oblivious to the danger. Without thinking, I dart forward, scooping him up just as the nearest batlaz lunges.

I feel a searing pain in my arm as the batlaz's teeth graze my skin. I cry out, stumbling backward, clutching Vincent tightly to my chest.

What happens next is a blur of motion and sound. Mordakus moves with intense speed and precision, his fists and feet connecting with furry bodies. The batlaz yelp and whine, clearly outmatched by his ferocity and in moments, it's over. The batlaz retreat, tails between their legs. I stand there, shaking, Vincent trembling in my arms.

Mordakus turns to me, his eyes blazing with anger. "What were you thinking?" he shouts. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

I flinch at his tone, tears welling up in my eyes. "I... I couldn't let them hurt Vincent," I stammer.

"That creature isn't worth your life!" Mordakus snaps. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How easily you could have been torn apart?"

Each word feels like a physical blow.

I know he's right, that I acted recklessly.

But hearing him call Vincent worthless, dismissing my actions as mere stupidity... it's too much.

"He's all I have left!" I shout back, my voice cracking. "You don't understand. You can't understand what it's like to lose everything, to cling to the one thing that reminds you of who you used to be!"

Mordakus's expression hardens. "You think I don't understand loss?" he says, his voice dangerously low. "You know nothing about me or what I've been through. Don't presume to lecture me on suffering."

We stand there, locked in a tense standoff. The pain in my arm throbs, a stark reminder of how close I came to disaster. But it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the growing certainty that I've made a terrible mistake.

"Let me see that arm," Mordakus says finally, his tone clipped and professional.

I hold out my injured arm wordlessly, wincing as he examines the wound. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he cleans and bandages it, a stark contrast to his harsh words.

"It's not deep," he says. "But it could have been much worse. You need to be more careful. You humans are fragile creatures, after all."

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just... I panicked."

Mordakus sighs heavily. "We need to find shelter for the night."

As we set off again, the silence between us feels oppressive. Vincent nuzzles against my neck, his soft purr a small comfort.