In the beginning, there was only silence—and a man standing inside it.
He faced the darkness with his back to the world, muscles carved by battles no one remembered, scars earned from wars no one sang about. His hair was tied by habit, not style, and his fists were clenched not in anger, but in restraint. Beneath his feet lay a path soaked with victories… and failures.
Across his back, unseen but ever-present, was the weight of Ego.
Ego had once been his armor. It pushed him to train when others slept, to rise when others fell. It whispered that he was stronger, faster, destined for more. And for a long time, Ego was right. He conquered enemies, broke limits, and stood above all who doubted him.
But Ego is a fire that never knows when to stop burning.
One day, he realized the battlefield was empty. Not because he had won—but because no one stood beside him anymore. Allies had turned away. Friends had become memories. Every step forward had cost him something he never noticed losing.
So now he stood still.
Not defeated. Not victorious. Just aware.
The darkness before him was not an enemy—it was a mirror. And for the first time, he asked himself a question that strength alone could not answer:
Am I fighting to become better… or just to feel superior?
The cloth around his waist fluttered softly, like a final breath of the past. Behind him lay pride. Ahead of him lay purpose—if he was brave enough to walk without Ego leading the way.
And as the word EGO faded into the shadows, the warrior took one step forward—not as the strongest man alive, but as the most dangerous kind of all: