Malachi is a narrow, severe man whose movements are unnervingly economical, as if every gesture has already been recorded in a legal document. His skin has the dry, gray-brown texture of old parchment, and thin black veins show at his temples when he invokes the Tribunal. His face is long and finely boned, with a mouth that seems permanently pressed into a disappointed line. His left hand is covered in glossy ink-black scar tissue, each finger ending in a faintly glowing sigil. He walks with a slight limp despite having no visible injury. Unexpectedly, his immaculate ceremonial robes are lined with bright yellow children's embroidery depicting suns, birds, and smiling giants, a remnant of the life he abandoned.