Fist to Stone

Knee grounded. Joints stiff, then surging. I tighten my grip, knuckles grinding against the slate floor. A cold draft presses against my chest. I do not flinch. I strike the flat stone before me. Solid. Unyielding. It holds my weight, and my fist does not shatter. I lock my stance, eyes fixed on the gray pillars ahead, ready.