Weight and Stillness

Weight And Stillness

The cold morning air still lingered behind the workshop. A thin layer of mist hung between the wooden buildings of Greyhollow.

The ground beneath Zio's feet felt cold and slightly damp. He was barefoot. Several steps away, Trod stood with his arms folded across his chest.

A wooden board rested across Zio’s back. Several stones had been placed on top of it as additional weight.

“Control your breathing,” Trod said.

Zio drew in a slow breath. The morning air filled his lungs before leaving in a long exhale.

“Not too fast.”

Zio gave a small nod. His body lowered. Then rose again.

Down. Up.

His movements were slow and steady. The cold air brushed against his neck. It traveled across his shoulders and down both arms.

“Feel your weight.”

Zio lowered himself once more. His toes pressed into the ground on their own. The cold earth felt sharper beneath them.

“Don’t lock your body.”

Zio released some of the tension in his shoulders. His body swayed slightly. His first instinct was to correct it immediately. But he stopped himself.

A few moments later, the sway disappeared on its own.

Trod remained silent. Zio continued.

Down. Up. Down again.

Warmth began gathering in both arms.

At first, it was faint. Then it slowly became a throbbing sensation that grew harder to ignore. Sweat formed at his temples even though the sun was still low.

“Hold.”

Zio kept moving. His breathing remained steady.

In. Out.

In. Out.

After a while, Trod spoke again.

“Stay there.”

Zio stopped. His chest hovered only a few inches above the ground.

The weight on his back felt heavier than before. The throbbing in his arms merged into a steady heat that spread deep into his shoulders.

Every breath made his chest feel slightly heavier. Every exhale eased the pressure. But never completely.

“Don’t move.”

Zio focused on his breathing. His left shoulder began to tremble. Then his right arm.

The trembling gradually became more noticeable. Still, he made no attempt to stop it. Trod walked slowly around him.

“Don’t chase balance.”

Zio remained silent.

“If you rush to correct your position,” Trod continued, “you’ll fall first.”

Sweat rolled down from his temple, dropping onto the ground below and darkening the dust beneath him.

“Right shoulder.”

Zio realized his weight had shifted slightly. He corrected it with a movement so small it was almost invisible. His breath caught for a fraction of a second.

“Lower yourself a little more.”

Zio lowered his body. The trembling in his arms intensified.

“Hold.”

He held. The world seemed to narrow into nothing but breathing, weight, and the heat filling his arms.

Nothing else remained.

Several seconds passed. Then Trod spoke again.

“That’s enough.”

The weight on his back disappeared. The stones were removed one by one. Then the wooden board followed.

Zio’s body finally touched the ground. He closed his eyes briefly. His breathing remained steady. But both arms felt far heavier than before. Trod stood beside him.

“How is it?”

Zio drew in a long breath.

“I can still keep going.”

Trod let out a quiet grunt. Zio remained silent for a moment before looking down at his hands. Trod gave a single nod.

For a while, only the sound of the morning wind remained between them.

Zio stayed where he was. His body was working hard.

Yet his expression remained calm.

***

Trod went back into the workshop before returning with an iron block. He dropped it in front of Zio. The metal struck the ground with a dull, heavy thud.

“Lift it.”

Zio bent down and wrapped both arms around the iron block. The moment it left the ground, the weight immediately dragged at his arms.

“Keep it against your body.”

Zio shifted the block until it rested firmly against his chest and stomach.

“Now widen your stance.”

Zio moved his feet apart until they were shoulder-width apart.

“Lower yourself.”

His knees bent slowly. His body sank several inches. Most of his weight settled into his thighs.

“Hold.”

Zio maintained the position. At first, it felt manageable. The iron block remained pressed against his body. His breathing stayed steady.

But little by little, the weight began to spread.

Heat gathered in his wrists. Then in his forearms. Soon it crept into his thighs and calves.

“Up.”

Zio straightened his legs slowly.

“Down again.”

He bent his knees once more. The movement was slow.

Controlled.

No sudden motions.

No jumping.

Only a body rising and lowering while holding a heavy weight against his chest.

“Don’t rush.”

Zio adjusted his breathing.

Down. Up.

Down again.

The first few repetitions still felt light.

After that, his thighs began to burn. The iron block felt heavier every time he lowered himself. Sweat started forming at his temples.

“If you shake, let it happen.”

Trod’s voice remained calm.

“Don’t fight it.”

The trembling started in his thighs. Then spread into his arms. The iron block quivered faintly in his embrace.

Zio swallowed. He kept moving.

Down.

Up.

Down.

His breathing gradually grew heavier. His back slowly tried to curl forward.

“Straight.”

Zio pulled his shoulders back. The block slipped several inches before he managed to secure it again.

“Down.”

He lowered himself once more. His thighs felt as though they were being pulled in opposite directions.

“Up.”

Zio rose. Then lowered himself again. This time slower. Heavier.

“Hold at the bottom.”

Zio stopped with his knees bent.

The weight immediately felt twice as heavy. His thighs trembled. His arms trembled with them. Sweat dripped onto the iron surface before slowly disappearing.

“Hold.”

Several seconds passed. Then the block slipped from his arms. The iron struck the ground with a heavy crash that echoed across the workshop yard.

Zio remained still. His breathing sounded loud in his own ears.

“Lift it again.”

He bent down. His hands trembled as they touched the iron. Even so, he lifted it.

“One more time.”

Zio pulled the block back against his chest. His knees bent once more.

Down. Up.

Down again.

Trod said nothing else. He simply watched, allowing Zio's body to discover its own limits.

***

Martha appeared without any clear sound of approaching footsteps. She stopped at the edge of the yard, carrying a small basket in one hand. The cloth covering it was still neatly arranged.

She did not speak immediately. Her eyes moved to the iron block in Zio’s arms. Then to his trembling hands. Then to a face that looked far too calm for someone carrying that much weight.

“Trod,” she said at last.

Trod did not look at her.

“Don’t stop him.”

“I wasn’t telling you to stop him,” Martha replied.

The iron block sank a little lower. Without realizing it, Zio held his breath.

“How long has he been at it?” Martha asked.

“Long enough.”

Martha snorted softly.

“That’s always your answer.”

She bent slightly until she was level with Zio’s line of sight.

“Can you still hear me?”

Zio gave a small nod. His gaze remained fixed ahead.

“If you can’t hold it anymore, then drop it,” Martha said quietly. “Don’t force yourself.”

She glanced at Trod before straightening again. Not long afterward, the block slipped from Zio’s arms. The iron struck the ground with a heavy thud. Zio remained motionless for several seconds.

“I told you not to stop him,” Trod said.

“I didn’t touch him,” Martha replied. “I only talked.”

Trod exhaled through his nose. Martha did not answer. Instead, she held the basket out toward Zio.

“This is for lunch later.”

Zio nodded again. His arms hung limply at his sides.

“He looks pale.”

“He’s still conscious.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Trod did not reply. His attention returned to Zio.

“Pick it up again.”

Martha opened her mouth. Then thought better of it. She set the basket down on a low wooden beam nearby.

“I’ll come back this afternoon.”

This time, she did not wait for an answer. She turned and walked away.

Zio bent down and grabbed the iron block once more. It felt heavier than before. The weight settled into his shoulders and arms far more quickly this time.

He lifted it slowly. His elbows bent slightly. Shoulders lowered the way he had been taught.

In through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

Short. Steady.

The first few seconds went well. Then his arms began to tremble again. His muscles tightened.

Relaxed. Then tightened once more.

“Don’t chase strength,” Trod said.

“Chase stillness.”

Zio nodded. The block dipped slightly. He tried to lift it back into position. Both arms strained to force the movement. His back tightened with them. Only then did he realize it.

Wrong.

The edges of his vision began to darken. Still, he endured. One small step backward.

The ground beneath his feet felt as though it shifted, even though he knew it had not. Then the block slipped free.

His hands opened. Iron struck earth with a dull impact.

...

Zio dropped to one knee. His right hand touched the ground first. The left followed a heartbeat later. Head lowered, his breath caught in his throat.

“Stand up,” Trod said.

Zio tried. His knees did not obey immediately. After a long pause, he finally pushed himself upright with both hands. His face had gone pale. Cold sweat clung to his temples.

Trod stood in front of him.

“You lost.”

Zio swallowed.

“Good,” Trod said. “That means you know when to stop.”

Zio gave a weak nod. His breath entered. Then left. Still uneven. But stable.

Trod pushed the iron block aside with the tip of his boot. Clearing the space in front of Zio.

“Sit.”

Zio sat down without arguing. His hands rested on his thighs. The trembling in his fingers slowly faded.

“You’re not broken,” Trod said.

“You’re just not ready yet.”

Zio stared at the ground.

Trod offered no further explanation. And Zio stopped waiting for one.

By the time the afternoon shadows had reached the farthest wall, his legs still felt heavy.

The afternoon light slowly shifted across the backyard. Shadows shortened across the ground, climbed the wall, and crept over the wooden boards marked by old nail holes. The air grew colder.

Zio’s joints felt reluctant to move when he finally stood. He walked beside Trod toward the front of the workshop. His pace remained measured, as always.

Not long afterward, the door bar was lowered and the workshop was closed for the day. Zio began the walk home.

The same village road felt slightly longer than it had that morning. The uneven ground forced his feet to keep adjusting with every step. A faint tremor still lingered in his calves.

When he reached his house, he stopped for a moment. He drew in a slow breath. Then let it out. He waited until both legs felt steady enough to support his weight again.

Only then did he open the door and step inside. The small house greeted him with a familiar silence.

Outside, the last traces of daylight gradually disappeared from Greyhollow.