IRIS
The soreness wakes me before the sun does.
Every muscle in my body protests as I roll out of bed, the ache in my legs sharp and persistent. My arms are worse, tight and heavy from yesterday’s training. Even breathing feels like it takes effort.
Still, I get up.
I don’t know if it’s stubbornness or guilt or something else, but I lace up my shoes, throw on a hoodie, and head outside. The sky is still that pale, pre-dawn gray.
The clearing looks the same as yesterday, but I don’t.
I’m already tired.
My grandfather is waiting, as expected. He gives no greeting, just a nod, and then we begin.
No warm-up. No talk.
Just motion.
He runs me through the same stances. The same breathing. The same footwork. Again and again.
And again.
“Weight on the balls of your feet,” he says.
I a
