6. Mordakus

6

MORDAKUS

T he sun has barely risen when I shake Eve awake. "Up," I command. "We're burning daylight."

She stirs groggily, Vincent mewling in protest beside her. "What? But it's so early..."

"Demons don't wait for a convenient time to attack," I retort. "Now get up. We've got work to do."

Eve stumbles to her feet, rubbing sleep from her eyes. I toss her a sturdy stick I found earlier.

"Self-defense training. You need to learn how to protect yourself."

Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear crossing her face. "But I... I don't know how to fight."

"That's why I'm teaching you," I say, my patience already wearing thin. "Now, show me your stance."

Eve awkwardly rubs the sleep out of her eyes and gets up and half-heartedly gets into a pose, her posture all wrong. I sigh, moving behind her to adjust her body.

"Like this," I demonstrate, ignoring the way she tenses at my proximity. "Keep your knees bent, weight evenly distributed."

We spend the next hour going through basic defensive moves. She's clumsy and hesitant, flinching every time I come at her with a mock attack.

"Stop hesitating!" I bark after she fails to block me for the tenth time. "In a real fight, that hesitation will get you killed."

"I'm trying!" she protests, frustration evident in her voice.

"Try harder," I push. "Again. And this time, mean it."

I increase the intensity of my attacks, pushing her harder and harder. My criticism grows harsher with each failed attempt. Part of me knows I'm being too hard on her, but I can't stop.

Every time I see her falter, I'm reminded of other faces, other failures...

"Move, dammit!" I shout, my voice echoing in the empty wasteland. "You think a demon's going to go easy on you? You think they'll care that you're tired?"

Eve stumbles, the stick falling from her grasp. She's breathing hard, sweat beading on her forehead. "I can't," she gasps. "Please, I need a break."

"Breaks get you killed," I snarl, memories of past battles clouding my judgment. "Pick up that stick and defend yourself!"

I lunge forward, my movements faster and more aggressive than before. Eve tries to dodge, but she's too slow. My stick connects with her side, not hard enough to cause real damage, but enough to knock her off balance.

She falls to the ground, a small cry of pain escaping her lips. And then, to my absolute horror, she starts to cry, her lower lip quivering one last time before she bursts into tears, curling into herself as sobs wrack her tiny human frame.

The sight of her crying, so small and hurt on the ground, hits me like a physical blow.

What have I done?

Stupid fucking monster piece of shit asshole, why did you have to go and push her so hard? You're always fucking pushing people away. Why even bother? You're a monster and you'll only ever be a monster.

"Look, I'm sorry," I say awkwardly, my voice gruff with emotion. "Don't cry. Please don't do that. Is there anything I can do?"

I stand over her, at a loss for what to do next. I have a lot of skills, but consoling frail little mortals isn't one of them. Eve glances up, her tear-filled eyes landing on the stick still clutched in my hand and her sobs intensify.

Realizing it, I toss the stick away. "See, no more sticks. No more training. Just leave the fighting to me, how about that?"

Eve's sobs begin to quiet, though she still looks at me warily. I can see the fear and hurt in her eyes, and it twists something inside me. I've gone too far, pushed too hard. "Look, Eve," I continue, my voice softer now. "I messed up. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. You're not a fighter, and I was wrong to try and make you into one."

I kneel down, trying to make myself less intimidating.

"How about we focus on what you're good at instead? Your knowledge of plants, your survival skills... that's just as important as fighting, maybe even more so."

Eve nods silently at my words, her tears slowly subsiding. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, still keeping her distance from me. The guilt weighs heavily on my shoulders as we begin to pack up our meager camp.

We work in silence, the tension palpable between us. I keep glancing at Eve, trying to gauge her mood, but she avoids eye contact. Vincent weaves between her legs, offering quiet comfort in a way I can't seem to manage.

As we're almost finished packing, Eve suddenly stops. Her attention is caught by something on the ground near our campsite.

"Oh!" she exclaims softly, her voice still a bit hoarse from crying.

I tense, ready for danger, but Eve is already kneeling down, gently brushing aside some debris.

"Mordakus, look at this," she says, her voice filled with wonder.

I approach cautiously, peering over her shoulder. There, pushing up through the harsh, irradiated soil, is a small plant with delicate purple flowers.

"It's a derla flower," Eve explains, her earlier distress seemingly forgotten in the face of this botanical discovery. "I've only ever seen drawings of these in my dad's old books. They're incredibly resilient - they can survive in the harshest conditions."

As she speaks, her voice grows stronger, more animated. The passion in her eyes as she examines the plant is a stark contrast to the fear and hurt I saw there just moments ago.

"Can we take it with us?" she asks, looking up at me with hope in her eyes. She sniffles, wiping her nose on her arm.

I hesitate, weighing the practicality of carrying a plant with us. But seeing the excitement on Eve's face, I find I can't say no.

"If you can find a way to transport it safely, sure," I concede.

Eve's face lights up with a smile - the first genuine one I've seen since our disastrous training session. She carefully digs up the plant, roots and all, and wraps it in a scrap of cloth before tucking it safely in her pack.

As we set out for the day's journey, I notice a significant change in her demeanor. She walks with more energy, purpose even; occasionally pointing out other plants we pass. Her mood seems to have turned around completely, all because of one stubborn little flower.

I find myself marveling at her resilience. Not for the first time, I wonder if perhaps Eve's strength lies not in her ability to fight, but in her capacity to find beauty and hope in the most unlikely places.

As we continue our trek, I make a silent vow to be more mindful of Eve's unique strengths.

Maybe, just maybe, I have as much to learn from her as she does from me.