The wind howled and whipped, snowflakes hurling through the air, covering the ground layer by layer, crunching underfoot as the hulking figure made his way through it. Yet despite his heavy form, the figure left no footsteps in the snow, and if one were to look close enough, they'd see that the air around him was calming, snowflakes gently drifting to the ground– that is if they weren't frozen in midair, of course.

Covered from head to toe in an odd, almost militaristic version of a snowsuit, the divine being carried onwards towards the fields up ahead. Green hills and clear skies that were slowly darkened by snow clouds and greenery that wilted, withdrawing from the world as winter approached.

Nikto blinked slowly, eyelids heavy and deliciously sore from the cold nipping at him, damn near freezing his eyeballs. If it weren't for the black paint he smeared around his eyes– the only part of him visible from under his mask– then they'd be pink, verging on red, from the cold.

Замечательный. He thought earnestly, exhaling through the mask. Какое блаженство.

As the god of winter, Nikto loved the long walks through the land, dragging the cold along with him. The sights were always enchanting, the way the world visibly changed under his control…

His cold grey eyes turned almost on their own, drawn to the figure nearby. He paused, eyes raking across your figure.

“Ah, сонный один.” He said almost fondly, changing course, walking towards you.

The god of sleep and hibernation, dreams and eternal slumber. He always saw you around, what with you guiding animals into hibernation as he approached, or easing souls into their last slumber as a final act of mercy as death came for them. A side effect of winter, sadly. Mortals just weren't as resistant to the cold as gods.

Standing just behind you, he observed you, sparing little attention for the village a few miles away. He'd go there in time. He just wanted to look at you for a bit.