“Owww!” I instinctively reached out, flailing at my attacker as I snapped awake. Opening my eyes, I saw Carrick standing over me, an amused smirk on his face. I groggily rubbed the sleep from my eyes along with the sting from my cheek. “Why are you slapping me awake?”

  “Because you need to hear someone sneaking up on you when you sleep. If not, and you are alone, you won’t be alive long,” Carrick responded, his smile widening.

  “That’s why you don’t sleep alone. So don’t smack me awake, and I won’t sleep anywhere by myself,” I shot back, still massaging my sore face.

  “Nope. That’s no good. I doubt you won’t be sleeping alone for the next several hundred years. You should learn this skill early. You will thank me later,” he countered.

  “Thank you? I want to thank you with my fists,” I retorted, my tone a mix of defiance and confidence.

  “That’s the spirit. Let’s see what you got,” Carrick challenged me, adopting a fighting stance that dared me to make the first move.

  I eyed his stance, noting how close his legs were while I was still on the floor. A part of me considered going for a quick bite, but the likely brutal retaliation held me back. Instead, I lay there for another moment, contemplating my next move, and soon came up with an idea.

  “Hey, Rabbit. Do you think you could wake me up if someone were approaching?” I asked in my head.

  “Yeah, but why would I do that? It’s so much more interesting watching you get smacked awake. I mean, I was laughing pretty hard on the inside watching you flail around.” Rabbit's voice echoed in my mind, dripping with amusement.

  He had a point, as he wouldn’t give up his entertainment unless I offered something more amusing. “Well,” I drew that word out in my mind. “If you wake me up, you get to choose how. Isn’t annoying me more interesting than watching someone else do it?”

  “I don’t take pleasure in annoying you,” Rabbit began, his tone brightening as he mulled it over. “However, that would be a good experiment to run on you.” His voice grew excited. “I wonder if I could come up with something so bad that you would beg me to let him slap you awake. Ohhh, that sounds like so much fun.”

  Regretting my suggestion as Rabbit warmed to his mischievous plan, I hesitated. “Well, maybe…” My inner voice trailed off as a sudden kick to my side snapped me back to this harsh reality.

  “I am not waiting around for you to stare into space. Get up and fight, or stay on the ground and get kicked. At this rate, I don’t care which one,” Carrick said.

  I got to my feet and assumed the proper stance, but Carrick rushed forward and punched me straight in the nose without warning. Blood filled my face, and I staggered back, doubling over in pain.

  He stepped back and said, “If you did that in a fight, you'd be dead now. You must learn to ignore the pain when you are attacked. For someone who can heal like you do, pain is just a distraction. Continue fighting and win, and your pain will heal afterward. Coddle your pain, and you will die. Do you understand?”

  “This hurts, you know!” I snapped back, but that only made Carrick smile.

  That smile lit a fire in me. I launched myself at him, throwing wild punches fueled more by anger than skill. Carrick's grin widened, not in mockery, but in approval. He ducked under the first swing and leaned away from the second, moving with frustrating ease. I kept swinging and pressing forward.

  Carrick slipped past my next punch and caught my arm mid-strike. I tried to twist away, but my feet were tangled. He threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I hit the ground hard on my side, and something tore loose in my shoulder with a sickening pop.

  “I told you not to cross your legs,” Carrick said, stepping over me. “It leaves you unbalanced. Now let’s go again.”

  “I can’t,” I gasped, cradling my arm. “It feels like my shoulder’s been torn.”

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  Carrick’s face hardened. “Attack, or I’m going to. Ignore the pain, or it’ll only get worse.”

  Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to my feet. My left arm hung limp and useless. Just shifting it sent a fresh bolt of pain through my shoulder.

  “I can’t…” I started, but he rushed in before I could finish.

  His fist slammed into my kidney. Pain shot through my side, and I folded forward. Before I could recover, his knee smashed into my already-injured nose. Stars exploded across my vision, and I crumpled.

  “Get up and fight through the pain!” he barked.

  But I couldn’t. My body trembled. I couldn’t lift my arm, couldn’t block, couldn’t do anything but curl tighter on the ground.

  “Fight!” he yelled.

  But I didn’t. Instinct took over, and I pulled myself into a ball, bracing for the blows.

  But they never came.

  “Is that it?” he snapped. “You’ll die like that. Worthlessly cowering.”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

  I was scared he’d hit me again. I was scared the next strike would be worse. I didn’t even know if he was done.

  I stayed curled up until he walked away, and then I just lay there thinking.

  I remained on the ground long after Carrick had gone. The pain faded quickly, but the memory of it lingered. Within ten minutes, my body was fine. My ribs no longer ached, my nose felt straight again, and my arm moved like nothing had happened. And yet, even with everything healed, I still didn’t move.

  Something was wrong. I could not explain it, but the fear stayed even after the pain was gone.

  Why was I still afraid? Why did I freeze when I should have fought back?

  I searched for the reason, running through what had happened. The hits, the pain, the panic. None of it should have been enough to stop me. So why did it?

  Maybe it was not the pain at all. Maybe it was what the pain meant.

  I was still thinking like I used to. Like someone who could be permanently damaged. Like someone from a world where healing took time and scars lasted forever.

  But that was not me anymore. Not here.

  Here, pain faded. Wounds closed. Bones knit. And I stood again like nothing happened.

  I had something no one else did. My healing gave me the right to fight harder, to push farther, to ignore what others could not.

  If someone hit me, I should make them regret it.

  Lying there, I felt something shift inside me.

  The fear that held me down broke apart, leaving only resolve.

  If I could heal through anything, then I had no excuse to stay afraid.

  Pain was not something to run from. It was something to use.

  Every strike, every injury, every drop of blood was proof that I could keep going when others could not.

  I would not flinch again.

  I would face pain head-on, fight until I could not move, and rise stronger each time.

  If this world wanted to break me, it would have to try harder.

  Eventually, Carrick returned with two bowls of food. "Breakfast?" he offered.

  I shook my head. "No. Round two," I said, motioning for him to come.

  His grin stretched wider than ever before. He set the bowls down and came at me without hesitation.

  I met him halfway. I threw a punch that missed by inches, but it made him shift. That was all I needed. I followed up with a hard kick to his ribs. He caught it on his elbow, and pain shot up my leg. I pushed through it.

  He slipped behind me and slammed a fist into my ribs. I stumbled but twisted with the hit, grabbing his wrist and driving my weight forward. It was not clean, but I was determined not to let him have space.

  I felt his foot hook my ankle, and he shoved me forward before moving back. I rolled with the shove and, instead of collecting myself, rushed back in.

  "There you are," he said, as I swung to take off his face.

  As he continued to retreat, I pressed harder. Every strike he landed, I ignored and fought more viciously for it.

  Carrick eventually called an end to the match. I was cut up, bruised, and barely able to stay on my feet, but I had not backed down.

  We sat and ate while my body worked to repair itself.

  "You were incredible today. Even landed a few hits on me," Carrick said. I doubted it was sincere. If he wanted to, he could have dodged everything I threw. Most of what I landed, he probably let me. "I’m glad you finally let the beast out."

  "The beast?" I asked, my words thick from my tongue, which I had bitten during the fight. He had caught me under the chin with his knee, and I was still sore from it. Chewing was difficult, and I wished the healing was instantaneous.

  "Sometimes when you fight, you turn into something wild," he said. "It happened the first time we sparred here, and again this morning. When I broke your nose, you kept coming. But when your shoulder gave out, you shut down. You just curled up and waited for it to end."

  "I figured it out after that fight," I said. "I was afraid of damage I couldn’t come back from. But now I know the only way I win is if I make the other guy hurt worse than me."

  Carrick gave a proud smile. "Most people take a long time to learn that lesson. Your healing just helped you get there faster. Either way, I’m glad to see you’re ready to fight."

  After I had healed and finished my food, Carrick went back to basic teaching interspersed with sparring. However, it never got as violent as it had started. It seemed that now I had found my resolve, he no longer craved the blood.

  With the sun still high in the sky, Carrick finally dismissed me, telling me to head to the Great Hall for lunch.

  Having that freedom so early felt strange. The heavy oak doors of the hall opened with a depressing groan, but the lively music and laughter spilling out were a sharp contrast.