Chapter 5

At some point, after his body was repaired, he learned something important. 

Healing did not mean comfort.

It meant the pain had changed shape.

His body felt heavy now. Not weak. Heavy. 

After collapsing for the seventh time before the sun reached its peak, he was certain that Roa had fixed his body only to crush it more.

The wooden pole slid off his shoulders and struck the stone with a dull thud. The sacks at its ends shifted, stones grinding against each other like teeth.

Rae lay facedown, chest heaving. Each breath burned. Sweat plastered his clothes to his skin. His legs refused to respond.

Roa did not look impressed at all.

“Up.”

Rae’s fingers dug into the dirt. His arms shook as he tried to push himself up. His body screamed in protest, every muscle still recovering from the pills, the stances, the endless hours of forced endurance.

He failed.

His face hit the ground again.

Roa tapped the stone once with his staff.

“You fell because you stopped listening,” he said calmly.

Rae spat dirt from his mouth and forced himself onto his knees, vision swimming.

“I was listening.”

“No.” Roa nudged the pole with his staff. “And if stone humbles you, you deserve to stay small.”

He pointed at the weight. 

“Put it back on your shoulders.”

Rae stared at the weight. His arms felt hollow. His shoulders throbbed where the wood had bitten into flesh.

“…How long?” he asked hoarsely.

Roa looked at the sky. “Until your body understands that collapse is not an option.”

Rae swallowed and reached for the pole.

The sacks slammed into place, the weight settling deep into his bones. His knees buckled for a heartbeat, then locked as he forced himself upright.

Roa pointed toward the path circling the lake.

“Run.”

The lake lay ahead, its surface calm and clear, fed by melting snow from higher up the mountain. Spring had come quietly. Grass pushed through thawed earth along the shore, and thin white petals drifted lazily from half-bloomed trees.

The world looked gentle.

The weight was not.

Rae took his first step.

Deep pressure ground into his hips, his spine and his knees. Each step pressed the stones harder into his shoulders, threatening to fold him forward.

By the tenth step, his breath began to scatter.

“No,” Roa said from behind him.

Rae clenched his jaw.

Inhale. Slow.

Hold.

Exhale.

The rhythm returned, shaky but present. His pace steadied, his steps shortening as he adjusted to the load.

The path curved around the water, narrow and uneven. Damp soil clung to his feet. Pebbles shifted underfoot. One wrong step would send the pole sliding and his body with it.

He did not look at the lake.

He looked at his breath.

Lap one ended with burning legs.

Lap two with numb shoulders.

Lap three blurred into instinct.

The stones shifted inside the sacks.

The weight changed.

Rae nearly fell, foot sliding half a step forward. His breath hitched. 

“Listen,” Roa said. 

Rae forced himself to slow.

The lake reflected the pale sky. Wind brushed the water gently, carrying the scent of wet earth. 

Everything moved.

Everything flowed.

Rae adjusted his pace. Not faster. Not slower.

Smoother.

The weight stopped fighting him. It did not become lighter, but it became predictable. The pole settled into his shoulders. His steps aligned with his breath. 

He did not realize how long he had been moving until his legs finally gave out.

Rae collapsed near the lake’s edge, the pole rolling into the dirt.

He lay on his back, chest heaving, staring at the sky through half-closed eyes. His entire body shook, but his breath stayed steady.

Roa stood over him.

“You lasted longer than yesterday.”

Rae laughed weakly.

“That does not feel reassuring.”

Roa tapped the ground with his staff. “Rest. When you can stand, we continue.”

Rae closed his eyes.

For the first time since the fire, since the river, since the pills tore him apart, he did not feel like he was breaking.

He felt like he was being shaped.

The next morning arrived with heavier weight.

Roa had added stones without warning.

Rae stared at the pole, then at Roa.

“How much more?”

“Enough.”

Rae lifted it anyway.

His shoulders buckled. His knees threatened collapse.

But he stood.

And he ran.

The pattern repeated.

Morning became running. Running became collapse. Collapse became standing. Standing became running again.

Rae stopped tracking sunrise and sunset. There was only the pole. Only the path. Only Roa’s flat voice cutting through exhaustion.

“Stand.”

Always stand.

His body changed.

Muscles appeared along his legs where none had existed before. His shoulders broadened. Calluses thickened where wood met flesh.

Pain stopped being an event.

It became a condition.

Always present, but ignorable if he focused on breath instead of suffering.

His mind learned a trick.

When pain screamed loudest, he stepped away from it. He existed slightly above it. He watched his body move as if it belonged to someone else.

Step. 

Breathe. 

Step. 

Breathe.

Simple was survivable.

One morning, Roa changed the pattern.

“Same weight. Different movement.”

He dropped into a low stance. Knees bent sharply. Back straight. Arms extended forward.

“Hold this while you run.”

Rae stared. “That is not possible.”

“Do it anyway.”

Rae settled the pole across his shoulders and sank into the stance.

Fire erupted in his thighs.

“Move.”

He managed three steps before crashing into the dirt, the weight pinning him down.

Roa’s staff tapped stone.

“Again.”

Five steps.

“Again.”

Seven.

“Again.”

The torture continued without pause or mercy.

But somewhere between the twentieth and thirtieth attempt, something shifted. His legs stopped shaking quite as badly. His balance steadied by fractions.

He completed a full circuit in the low stance.

His legs gave out the moment he finished.

Roa nodded.

“Better.”

That single word carried more weight than the pole ever had.

The pole grew heavier again.

Rae lifted it one morning and knew instantly. More stones. More weight. More suffering.

He lifted it anyway.

His body adapted or it broke. There was no middle ground.

It chose to adapt.

What had been impossible became difficult.
What had been difficult became tolerable.
What had been tolerable became routine.

The routine was still brutal.

But brutal was better than impossible.

One evening, Rae collapsed in the grass after his final lap, too exhausted to move.

Roa crouched nearby.

“Your body is adapting faster than expected.”

Rae managed a grunt.

Roa stood. “Rest well tonight.”

Rae closed his eyes.

His body was a single, massive ache. Every muscle burned. Every joint trembled.

But he had survived weeks of this. Carried weight that should have crushed him. Learned to move when movement seemed impossible.

His body was no longer just enduring punishment.

It was being remade.

Forged into something harder.

Tomorrow would bring new torment.

He would survive that too.