Snowflakes drifted through the cold winds of Eito Town, the Land of Snow. The town was quiet, but at its heart, a boy stood out like a lone flame against the frost.
Nova Makai, only seventeen, walked the cobblestone streets with his hands tucked inside his traditional brown cotton jacket. His green eyes glimmered with a strange sharpness, the kind that could sketch a soul just by looking at it. Strands of his long hair, tied back loosely, brushed against his neck as he tilted his head, observing the world like it was his canvas.
His clothes were simple—loose jeans, the kind a wanderer would wear. Yet the gun resting in his belt betrayed something deeper. A painter carrying a weapon. An artist ready for a battlefield.
They said Nova was famous for his art—paintings that seemed almost alive, capturing feelings too heavy for words. But in the frozen silence of Eito Town, he didn't look like just an artist.
