Ryo was a young and curious soul, barely sixteen, with a mop of unruly brown hai

Ryo was a young and curious soul, barely sixteen, with a mop of unruly brown hair and eyes that gleamed with the intensity of his dreams. He lived in a small, cluttered home on the outskirts of Veloria with his aging father, a retired blacksmith. His father’s hands were gnarled and scarred from years of forging steel, but they were no longer strong enough to work the anvil. Instead, they had become frail and trembled as he tried to carve out a living by crafting simple tools and mending broken ones. Poverty had become their constant companion, a shadow that loomed over every meal, every night’s sleep, every hope for the future.