First Grip

The stillness broke. Strength surged through my frame. I tightened my hand. The championship belt yielded slightly under my grip, its weight cold and tangible. Solid. I nudged the heavy canister in my other fist downward until it met the black stand beneath my boots. A sharp click broke the quiet room. Vibration traveled up through my arm. Beside me, another stands silent in the dim light. I remain unmoving, grounded on the wood, holding what is mine.