Footprints on the Ground
The morning sun returned once more, casting its warm golden light across the earth still damp with night's dew. The second day of training had arrived, and my steps continued—one more rung climbed on the ladder toward the dream I held tightly in my heart. The sky was painted with soft orange hues as I stepped out of the small house, my body still sore from yesterday's training—but my spirit remained untouched.
Uncle was already waiting, just like before, standing tall with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the open field that would serve as today's training ground.
"You're right on time, kid," he said with a sideways glance. His voice was flat, but there was something different in it—as if he were holding back a smile.
"What's today's training, Uncle?" I asked, gripping the wooden stick that now felt more familiar in my hands.
Uncle stepped forward, stabbing the ground with the tip of his stick. "Today, you'll learn the foundation of it all. Not how to strike—but how to step."
I frowned. "Step?"
He nodded. "Footwork is the foundation of everything, kid. Your sword means nothing if you can't keep your balance. A smart enemy won't look for flaws in your blade—they'll look for them in your stance."
I stayed silent, processing his words. Then Uncle began to move, demonstrating several basic movements—stepping forward, sliding to the side, stepping back, pivoting, and landing softly with barely a sound.
"This training will shape your instincts. You'll learn to read attacks by the sound of footsteps. Feel the ground beneath you—make it your ally, not just something you stand on."
I mimicked him, though my movements were still stiff. But after several attempts, my body began to follow the rhythm more naturally.
Uncle observed me closely, then gave a small, quiet nod. "You learn quickly."
I said nothing, hiding a smile. Inside my chest, there was a feeling I couldn't quite describe—a mix of joy and a thirst for more knowledge.
Hours passed. We trained non-stop, from evading to attacking while keeping our footing. Sweat poured down my face, my shirt soaked, but each movement felt lighter. I even managed to match Uncle's speed—though my breath was ragged.
"Come on, one more round!" I shouted, even as my legs began to tremble.
Uncle stopped. He looked at me for a long moment, then spoke in a tone softer than usual.
"Two incredible days…," he murmured. "I thought this journey would take three weeks. But if you keep this up…"
He didn't finish the sentence. I knew he was holding back his amazement.
I just smiled, trying to stand taller. "I don't want to just be good, Uncle. I want to be more."
Uncle stepped closer and patted my shoulder.
"If your steps are as strong as your resolve, kid… then even the battlefield will one day know your name."
I bowed my head slightly—not from exhaustion, but out of respect for his words. And when I stood upright again, the sun had climbed higher, as if blessing every footprint I left upon the earth.