The room, once a sanctuary of hushed tranquility, now echoed with the vibrant energy of a bustling celebration. Thirteen-year-old Ego had outgrown his crib, the tiny spectator from years past now a restless young boy. His dark hair, tousled and unruly, framed determined eyes that seemed to hold both a spark of curiosity and a hint of defiance.
Beyond the room's threshold lay the revelry—cheerful melodies danced through the air, mingling with the jubilant laughter of guests. Ego stood by the window, observing the festivities that beckoned him with their allure. His thoughts wandered, yearning to join the merry-making outside.
Stepping into the courtyard, Ego found solace in the familiar weight of his wooden sword. The polished oak had become an extension of himself, a testament to countless hours of training. With each practiced swing, he embodied a skillful finesse that belied his age.
