Terren Ash-Wrench is a broad-shouldered chromavaft man whose skin carries a muted sheen like oil on rainwater. His colors do not flash dramatically. They drift slowly across him in moss green, clay red, indigo, and tarnished gold, as though an unseen hand is turning a lantern behind frosted glass. His fingers are long and deft, with translucent joints that reveal tiny moving sparks of light. He walks with a careful, rolling balance, placing each foot as if the floor might remember the pressure. His face is gentle and almost boyish, but one side of his jaw is crossed by a rigid seam of silver ectoplasm from ear to chin. He wears a smile that makes strangers trust him, yet his shadow often moves a half-second late. The unexpected contradiction is that his body appears soft and luminous while his hands feel dry, warm, and heavily callused, like a stonemason’s.