Theron is a broad, powerfully built half-dragon whose polished gold scales have been etched by wind, grit, and volcanic ash into fine pale striations along his shoulders, forearms, and ribs. His muzzle is square, his horns sweep back close to the skull, and his eyes shine a deep furnace-amber that rarely blink when someone is speaking. He moves with the measured economy of a siege engine, every turn deliberate, every pause placed. His hands are the most revealing part of him: thick-knuckled, heavily callused, and permanently darkened at the fingertips by years of handling signal powder, map charcoal, and hot brass instruments. An unexpected softness clings to him in small details. He keeps a tiny blue wool thread tied around one wrist, replacing it whenever it frays, and he smells faintly of cedar oil beneath the iron, smoke, and old leather.