Master Cassian ibn-Rabi is a frail, sharp-featured elderly man whose presence feels far more substantial than his narrow frame suggests. His skin has the dry, warm texture of old parchment, marked by faint silver veins around his wrists where divinatory ink has seeped into his flesh over decades. Deep-set eyes glitter with patient intelligence beneath heavy lids, and his fine white hair is combed straight back except for one stubborn lock that hangs over his left eyebrow. His long fingers move with the delicate precision of a jeweler, yet his posture is unexpectedly graceful and upright. He walks with soft, measured steps that make him seem to glide rather than shuffle. The contradictory impression he leaves is that of a breakable scholar who somehow occupies a room like a locked door.