Eight years had passed since I left my village. Eight years of training, traveling, fighting monsters, learning spells, mastering techniques, and perfecting my body and mind.
I had grown into a man the myths themselves would envy. At twenty, my presence alone commanded respect, awe, and a touch of fear. My hair fell perfectly around my face, my eyes glinting with the cold fire of the Mangekyō Sharingan, and from my ears hung the Hanafuda earrings, symbols of power and heritage I would never forget.
I walked through the valley, my sword swaying effortlessly at my side, slicing through the air with perfect rhythm. Every movement was precise, lethal, and elegant.
Ahead, a group of marauding monsters ambushed a small caravan.
I didn't even break stride.
"Second Form: Sun Breathing!" I whispered, my voice calm, almost detached.
The technique flowed from me like sunlight incarnate. My sword traced arcs in the air, the strikes precise and impossibly fast. The monsters screamed as the edges of my blade sliced them cleanly in two, leaving nothing behind but ash and a faint smell of smoke.
Even now, despite the power coursing through me, I wasn't satisfied. Basic mastery was just that: basic. I had barely scratched the surface of my potential. Every day, I pushed further, refining chakra flow, expanding spiritual reserves, and testing the limits of my elemental techniques.
People in villages I passed whispered my name: a legend walking among mortals, both attractive and terrifying. A demigod, a swordsman, a mage, a master of energy itself.
I smirked lightly as I continued walking, my cloak fluttering behind me. Every swing of my sword, every flicker of energy in my eyes, told the world one thing:
I wasn't here just to exist. I was here to become a myth.
And as I walked into the setting sun, I could feel Olympus watching. I could feel the threads of destiny bending before me.
This was only the beginning.