My second character for your consideration! 

V.2! 

[hider=Levi Orienko]
[table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/df/60/3d/df603d4fcdeb6922551c17e6b24211cf.jpg[/img][/center][/cell][cell][color=2e2c2c]_______________________________________________[/color]
[center][sup][h1][color=black] LEVI ORIENKO[/color]
[color=c2b280]LEVI ORIENKO[/color][/h1][/sup][/center]
[indent][hr][/indent][hr]
[indent][sup][b]Name:[/b] Levi Orienko
[b]Faction:[/b] Independent
[b]Rank:[/b] -
[b]Nationality:[/b] Ukrainian
[b]Age:[/b] 17
[b]Sex:[/b] Male
[b]Height:[/b] 5'6"
[b]Weight:[/b] 132lbs (60kg)
[b]Eyes:[/b] Green-gold
[b]Physique:[/b] Wiry, scarred, restless
[b]Hair:[/b] Deep brown
[b]Skin:[/b] pale
[b]Colour:[/b] [colour=c2b280]c2b280[/colour]
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[sup][h2][color=black] N O B L E  A R M  &  A P P E A R A N C E :[/color]
[color=c2b280]N O B L E  A R M  &  A P P E A R A N C E :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][b]Kami-Kunai (aka as White Fang, Belyy Klyk (russian)) -[/b] Levi’s Noble Arm takes the form of a Kunai folded from pale paper. Its surface is matte and smooth, yet the edges taper to impossibly sharp creases. Every line of the blade and handle carries the geometry of a fold, as if it had been shaped by careful, deliberate hands. The material looks fragile, too light to harm, thin like notebook stock, weightless in the air, yet it carries itself with the gravity of steel. In hand, it balances perfectly, never bending, never tearing. When light catches its surface, the seams gleam faintly with a slightly metallic shine. [/indent]

[sup][h2][color=black] N O B L E  A R M  R A N K :[/color]
[color=c2b280]N O B L E  A R M  R A N K :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent]
[hider=(B)]
[list]
[*]Power: D
[*]Speed: B
[*]Range: B
[*]Persistence: A
[*]Precision: D
[*]Potential: B
[/list][/hider][/indent]

[sup][h2][color=black] N O B L E  A R M  T Y P E,  E L E M E N T,  &  R A N G E :[/color]
[color=c2b280]N O B L E  A R M  T Y P E,  E L E M E N T,  &  R A N G E :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]Type: 		Ranged/Utility/Support [*]Element: 		Origami [*]Range: 		Medium/long[/list][/indent]

[sup][h2][color=black] N O B L E  A R M  A B I L I T I E S :[/color]
[color=c2b280]N O B L E  A R M  A B I L I T I E S :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]Duplication[list][*]Kami-Kunai can be duplicated and controlled just like the original, being able to be shaped and modified as willed by Levi.[/list]
[*]Shape and Form[list][*]Can be folded, bent, and refolded into such shapes as birds, blades, sheets, ropes, masks, keys, etc.
[*]Forms behave as expected - Bird flaps/flies, rope can tighten, etc.
[*]Shapes can change mid-use - Birds turning to sheet etc.[/list]
[*]Control and Command[list][*]Has intuitive awareness of everything the forms touch, see, or hear, like extensions of his own senses
[*]He does not need to maintain line of sight to manipulate his forms[/list][/list][/indent]
[sup][h2][color=black] M I S C  A B I L I T I E S :[/color]
[color=c2b280]M I S C  A B I L I T I E S :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]Able to speak Ukrainian natively, Russian due to his time in capture, and English
[*]Birdwatching
[*]Observation - He's always watching. Small details like nervous tics, weight shifts, patterns, rarely escape him.[/list]
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[sup][h2][color=black] P E R S O N A L I T Y :[/color]
[color=c2b280]P E R S O N A L I T Y :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent]Levi is first and foremost an observer. His eyes never stop moving, tracing patterns in behavior, in sounds, in shadows. Years of captivity carved into him the habit of noticing everything, because survival often depended on it. He is guarded to the point of severity, speaking little and offering even less of himself. What words he does share are sharp, deliberate, and efficient, often carrying the clipped cadence of a second language. In English he tends toward simple phrasing, dropping articles here and there but never fumbling. He rarely contracts words, preferring directness over fluency. In his native Ukrainian or in Russian, he is smoother, more fluid, but he seldom has reason to use them.

Despite his silence, Levi is not empty. Beneath the taut surface lives a restless creativity, the echo of the boy who once made birds to perch on his shoulders and paper planes to dance in the air. His mind still bends that way, endlessly inventing, reshaping, improvising. He can see ten ways through a problem where others see only one. Yet this creativity carries a shadow: he is haunted by the memory of when his toys became weapons. Sometimes he indulges in childlike play, a bird resting on his hand, a kite drifting in the wind, but guilt follows swiftly, as if he is not allowed to be a child any longer.

Trauma left him resilient, but it also left him raw. He flinches at the sound of footsteps in hallways, recoils from chains, and dreads confinement above all else. Pain itself does not frighten him, he endured too much of it in captivity to be cowed by it now, but the thought of helplessness, of waking up caged once again, terrifies him more than death. This fear lives under his skin like a quiet vibration, always humming. His body never quite relaxes; his stance is always a little too tense, his shoulders a little too drawn. He rarely sits still. Fingers tap, fold, or twist bits of paper unconsciously. His sleep is shallow, broken at the smallest sound.

Socially, Levi is polite in a detached way, as if manners are armor rather than kindness. He rarely engages warmly, though he is not openly rude unless pushed. Trust comes slow, if at all. Authority especially makes him wary; uniforms and orders are just chains in another form. Still, he is not joyless. Every so often a dry, almost sardonic humor slips through in a wry remark. When it does, it’s darker than expected from a boy of seventeen, but it reveals a quick wit and a tongue that knows how to cut.

To strangers, Levi feels unsettling. There is something too sharp-eyed, too poised in him for someone his age. To allies, he is useful and loyal if that trust is earned, but difficult to draw close. To enemies, he is ghostlike, hard to catch, hard to see, his presence often felt more than it is witnessed. To himself, he is a paradox. He is both the child who longs to play and the survivor who can never afford to. He is both the creator and the weapon. Like his Noble Arm, he folds himself into whatever form is needed, holding the shape as long as survival demands.
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[sup][h2][color=black] L I K E S :[/color]
[color=c2b280]L I K E S :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]Birds
[*]Quiet places
[*]The wind
[*]Firelight
[*]Small, harmless tricks
[*]Music
[*]Autumn
[/list]
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[sup][h2][color=black] D I S L I K E S :[/color]
[color=c2b280]D I S L I K E S :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]Enclosed spaces
[*]authority figures
[*]bright lights
[*]cruelty
[/list]
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[sup][h2][color=black] F E A R S :[/color]
[color=c2b280]F E A R S :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]Confinement
[*]Being forgotten
[*]Attachment
[*]Being made to be a weapon
[/list]
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[sup][h2][color=black] B I O G R A P H Y :[/color] 
[color=c2b280]B I O G R A P H Y :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent]Levi was born in Ukraine, in a small town where his earliest memories are of wind, fields, and the sound of birds at dawn. His family was ordinary, not rich, not poor, and he was an ordinary boy until the age of nine. That was when he awakened his Noble Arm.

His father had died only weeks before, and the house felt heavy with grief. One afternoon, Levi watched Naruto with his younger cousins while his mother struggled with calls about the estate. When he found her crying at the kitchen table, he felt something shift inside him. He was only a child, but in that moment he decided he had to be the one to hold the family together. The thought clenched like a fist, and when he looked down, there was a kunai in his hand, solid, gleaming, real.

Startled, he ran to his cousins and showed them. They gasped with delight and begged for their own. So he tore sheets of paper and began folding, making clumsy little replicas to hand out. Kunai, shuriken, birds, planes, his cousins laughed, and soon Levi laughed with them. What began as a single weapon became play, and the play shaped the weapon in return. By the end of that year, his Noble Arm no longer appeared as cold steel alone, but as folded shapes that could cut, fly, or cling as his will directed. It was his toy, his secret, his wonder.

But Noble Arms are rare, and their bearers are valuable. It did not take long for word to spread, and where word spreads, so does war. Soldiers came, not from his homeland but from across the border, men with hard eyes and foreign commands. Levi was taken. He was only nine.
The years that followed blurred into one long captivity. A cell became his world, its walls closing in on him. Guards and handlers sought to break him, to twist his plaything into a weapon. They hurt him, starved him, demanded he use the folded blades to kill, to scout, to sabotage. Sometimes he refused, sometimes he obeyed. Each time he resisted, he paid in blood and bruises. Each time he obeyed, he lost a little more of himself. He learned quickly that silence was safer than defiance, that patience was stronger than rage.

Even in hell, he played. Quietly, in corners, he folded birds and kites when no one was looking. They were his secret, his reminder that he was still a boy. But play became survival. The kunai that once awoke in his hand had become many shapes now, shuriken, sheets, nets, birds, tools that fed him, shielded him, or bled others at his captors’ command. The origami was no longer just play; it was the only language he had left.

At fifteen, Levi escaped. It was not a single daring act but a long preparation, a slow burn. For months he tested locks with paper picks, memorized guard routines through the eyes of his birds, and mapped vents and exits. When the moment came, he struck without hesitation. A sheet smothered one guard, a shard slit the throat of another, and another... His folded blades blurred cameras, riled up dogs, and cut open fences. Alarms rang behind him, but the forest ahead was quiet. For the first time in six years, he was free.

Now seventeen, Levi is still carrying the boy he once was and the survivor he became. He does not fully belong to either. To most, he is unnerving, a teenager with eyes too sharp, too still, shaped by suffering. To himself, he is something stranger: a creator whose creations kill, a child who learned to play with death. He walks with it always at hand. His story is still being written, one fold at a time.[/indent]

[sup][h2][color=black] C U R R E N T  G O A L :[/color]
[color=c2b280]C U R R E N T  G O A L :[/color][/h2][/sup][center][color=black]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center][indent][list][*]To remain free and never be caged again.
[*]To free those who are caged where he can.
[*]Find meaning beyond survival[/list]
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