Thomas had two theories as to why his electricity output had seemed so underwhelming in comparison with earlier in the day. At first, he thought he might have worn out his electricity. He did summon an incredible charge after all—enough to put a fierce warrior down, but he quickly dispelled the idea. Over half of the day had passed by since then, ample time for his stamina to recharge. Besides, he’d been able to generate electricity for several hours in his training session, and he could feel his essence pool now, the fuel for his electricity. So that idea was out.

  That left him with two theories. The first, which was the least likely, was that Krag was even more of a beast than he appeared, and that he just had a stupidly high pain tolerance paired with unmatched tenacity. Possible, but he couldn’t see a world where Krag was that much tougher than another ekari warrior. If it was enough to have her spasming uncontrollably, Krag should have at least taken a knee. And he was a long way from that.

  His second theory was that his emotions somehow played a role. What was the key difference between the events? It was obvious. In one, he was fighting and had lost all composure, allowing fury to drive him, but in the other, he was calm and collected, instead driven by curiosity.

  Adrenaline and anger had long been proven as catalysts for physical strength, and there was no reason to suggest the same wouldn’t apply to strange abilities in this world. But if this truly was the reason for the power disparity, he was just shocked by how great the difference was. This would make training far more difficult. The only comfort he took from this theory was that he’d have this strength when he truly needed it—when fighting for his life.

  The streets quieted as the ekari filed into the Eating Hall for their evening meal, and he decided it was finally time to visit the injured warrior. As he approached the infirmary, he was a swirling mix of guilt, apprehension, and shame. He had no way of knowing how she would react to his presence. In his experience, a lot of the ekari warriors were hot-blooded, so he didn’t completely rule out the possibility of getting attacked.

  Obviously, this unsettled him, but he wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea. He had hurt her; if she felt she had to harm him to level the playing field, he wouldn’t stop her. It would be fair. He just hoped that if it did come to that, she would have the restraint to hold back, unlike him. No doubt, she could kill him as easily as tying a shoelace.

  Knocking on the infirmary door, there was a sustained silence, and he feared she might have already left, but a resonant voice on the other side broke the silence.

  “Why are you knocking?” she responded. He gulped, opening the door and entering the threshold. The female warrior sat cross-legged on the bed facing the far wall. She didn’t make eye contact with him, instead absorbed by a shuriken-like weapon which she spun on her finger. For a moment, the subtle whizz of the spinning metal was the only sound in the room.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” she said coldly, still not looking up at him. His blood seemed to freeze, and his instinct told him to flee, but he knew he had to ignore it. It was time to face the music. He stepped forward, and she stopped spinning the weapon, finally making eye contact.

  “Your name. It’s Safka… isn’t it?” he asked. She jumped off the bed and met him in the middle of the room.

  “Correct,” she said, allowing the word to trickle from her lips. She was a lot smaller than most of the ekari warriors. He stood a full head’s length above her, but she appeared no less a warrior than any. A jagged battle scar etched her brow, and her horns bore numerous deep lacerations.

  “Right. So… Safka…” he spluttered. “First things first. Are you okay?”

  The warrior tilted her head as if to study his worth. Her green eyes penetrated his very being.

  “It will take more than a little electricity to cripple me,” she retorted, appearing insulted by the suggestion. Looking her up and down, he noted that she did appear to be fine, but he knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving.

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  Thomas wanted to probe further, but was wary of causing further offense. He had come to learn that the ekari were a very proud people. Strength was among their highest regarded qualities, and he suspected they would go to great lengths to conceal weakness.

  He admired such fortitude, but preferred honesty. If she truly was still suffering, she wouldn’t tell him. At least she appeared okay. If she were badly injured, surely the evidence would be apparent. He suspected something like arrhythmia was one of the few long-term conditions that could go unnoticed as a result of exposure to high electricity. Yet the likelihood of her contracting that was small in his opinion. So it appeared as though disaster had been averted.

  “I’m thankful to see you in good health, Safka, but I’m not just hear to check up on you. I’m here to apologize. What I did was unforgivable, and the outcome could have been far worse. It may have been an accident, but it only happened because I was reckless. I’m a long way from being a warrior like you, and I have a lot to learn. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  She narrowed her eyes, seemingly unsatisfied with his apology. He could hardly blame her. He wasn’t sure he would forgive him if he were in her shoes. Without warning, she grabbed his hand and pulled, forcing him in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” Thomas squealed, alarmed.

  “Is this the hand that did it?” she asked, turning it over to study the origin of her suffering.

  “Umm. Yes,” he answered. Quickly, feelings of apprehension shifted to feelings of awkwardness. Then, just as unexpectedly as she had grabbed his hand, she let go, looking up at him.

  “If you want my forgiveness, you have it,” she said, returning to her bed, appearing done with the conversation. He raised an eyebrow. This was all rather odd. He had expected a stern telling off at the very least, and this was the extent of her fury: grabbing his hand? It just didn’t make any sense. Not satisfied with the best possible outcome, he pushed back.

  “How can you forgive me so easily?” he questioned. “I put you here. Me. Don’t you want payback? To even the scales?”

  She was silent for a while, struggling to find the right words.

  “I don’t hate you. I once thought I did—when you first arrived, but I fear that hatred was misplaced. The attack was a mistake, yes?”

  “Of course, I was fighting Luran.”

  “Then it was a mistake. And we all make mistakes. Besides, you are not solely to blame for me being here. Just as much of the blame lies with me,” she said, her face firm, staring at the floor. He squinted, confused as to what she was getting at. Safka was quick to notice.

  “Look. What you said about being a warrior is true. You are far from being one and don’t understand. It is our duty to be prepared for anything. For all we know, the walls that protect us could crumble at any moment, and we must be ready to defend the village. There is no assured period of peace. We must always be ready. Always,” she explained, smashing her fist into her hand.

  “There is no difference between training and real combat. If you neglect to treat the former with the attentiveness it deserves, well, that’s just a way to an early grave.” She let out a lengthy sigh before staring at the ceiling.

  “In battle, you can never count on a one-on-one duel, so to expect the same in training is absurd. I was careless: not truly aware of my surroundings, and I paid the price for it. Should this have happened out there,” she stated, motioning to the forest, “I would be dead.”

  Now that certainly wasn’t the response he had expected. He didn’t quite know how to respond to that. It was a foolish stance. The blame was clearly his to bear. He understood her sentiment that warriors should always be prepared, but her stance was far too extreme. The walls would never simply crumble, and training was called training for a reason. There were protective measures in place. Nobody was actually trying to harm their comrades, only polish their skills. Well, everyone excluding him and Luran.

  Thomas studied Safka more intensely and felt the weight of her oversight on her shoulders. The slump in her posture. The withdrawn expression. It was clear that whatever animosity she felt for him paled in comparison to the frustration she felt for herself—if there was any animosity there at all. This made him feel even more guilty.

  Gosh, this race had some strange perspectives. He wanted to shake some sense into her, but knew it would be useless. The ekari were a stubborn lot, and her opinion would not be swayed so easily, no matter how much of a compelling argument he presented. So he did the only thing he felt she might want. He left, letting her reflect on the mistake she had made. He had plenty more reflecting to do himself.