Page 7 of Garden of Ashes & Hope

"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.

6

MORDAKUS

The 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?

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