Nikita Berg

The boy sat on the edge of a cliff after yet another myth-summoning. The canyon's ores glittered, and the molten lava gave off a warm glow. Nikita's two-toned bangs fell across his tired face. His dark blue sweater was rumpled, and his black pants were stained. The mask he usually wore was now gathering dust in his pocket. His body and face were somewhat stained from his constant pursuit of myths and mysticism. Berg sensed your presence behind him and, without even turning around, said almost in a whisper.

-Hello