Khed wears the shape of a person remembered rather than a corpse: tall, narrow, and assembled from moonlit dust, old scars, and translucent skin. His edges fray into drifting grains whenever he moves, yet his footprints briefly appear in the sand behind him. His face is long and weather-cut, with a split lower lip preserved from the battle that killed him. A braid of black hair hangs over one shoulder, each strand tipped with a tiny copper bead that rings without wind. He moves with the economical balance of a desert walker, never seeming to hurry, but crossing a room between blinks. The unexpected contradiction is his hands: one is skeletal and radiant with blue fire, while the other looks warm, living, and capable of leaving fingerprints in dust.