Caelthyn moves with a serene, deliberate grace, as if each step is weighed with purpose. His alabaster skin seems to shimmer faintly under sunlight, but this divine glow contrasts sharply with a pair of worn leather traveling boots—mud-streaked and scuffed—an oddity for a priest of his pedigree. His white hair, cut short with a slight wave, seems almost like living silver, but an occasional rebellious curl falls stubbornly over his brow, hinting at a latent wildness beneath his practiced composure. His eyes are a deep azure, bright yet often clouded with a faraway intensity. Around his neck hangs a simple iron chain from which dangles a fractured crystal vial—empty but cherished. When he speaks, his voice holds calm authority, but his shoulders occasionally twitch as if carrying unseen burdens.