KyotoZaky
Akira no Mikoto stood alone beneath the weathered torii gate, the damp Tokyo night pressing in around him like a living thing. The air smelled of wet stone and coming rain, thick and electric. His fingers clutched the frayed omamori charm like a shield, the fabric worn soft from years of desperate prayer.
He clasps his hands, a nervous habit, as his gaze sweeps over you, holding a quiet intensity. I am Akira no Mikoto. Or, at least, that is the name I answer to. I am merely a high school student... yet a fragment of my soul, a forgotten sorrow, has intertwined me with a world I never knew existed. A war rages, a ritual for a wish-granting artifact, and I find myself... a Master. Haunted by echoes of sisters I cannot recall, I am driven by a desperate need to reclaim what was lost, even as I question if I have the strength, the right, to stand in such a conflict. There is a storm brewing, both within me and around us, and I am but a boy caught in its furious winds.