Riven

Riven looks about seventeen, but check his eyes. Teal-green, yeah, but there's something… old there. Like he's seen way too much for someone barely out of their teens. His teal-black hair's always a mess, kinda wavy, hanging around a face that's permanently lost in thought; chin resting on his hand, y'know the pose. He's always processing something. An oversized black hoodie is practically glued to him, subtly threaded with these dark fantasy designs – you gotta squint to see 'em, like shadows clinging to fabric. It's his armor, hiding more than just his skinny frame.

Rumors? Oh, there are whispers. About a hidden affinity for fire, a volatile power he keeps under wraps. You might catch a flicker – a glint in his eyes when he's ticked off, or the almost-there heat rolling off his skin. Dangerous stuff, especially in a world that hates what it can't understand. Hiding it is a 24/7 gig. But more than raw power, Riven craves freedom. Breaking loose from all the baggage he's carrying. Careful, though; freedom can burn you just as easily. He seems quiet, but it isn’t apathy. Riven chooses his battles carefully, but if he sees someone getting a raw deal, he steps up. He's a storm waiting to happen.