Mori Hoshima is a broad-shouldered human man with the weathered hands of a ferryman and the careful posture of a temple cantor. His skin is sun-browned across the nose and cheeks, but pale around the eyes where years of storm goggles protected him. His black hair is worn in a loose knot, threaded with three white cords that have faded blue at the ends. He moves with a gentle, rolling balance, as if the deck beneath him is always tilting. His smile is soft and welcoming, yet his left hand often trembles when the sky darkens. The contradiction is striking: he looks built to wrestle a mast into place, but handles cups, birds, and frightened children with almost painful delicacy.