Vane is a lean, long-limbed goliath whose movements are so economical that people often notice only where he has stopped, not how he arrived. His deep charcoal-grey skin has the rough, matte texture of weathered slate, broken by faint pale-blue migration tattoos that wind from his left ankle to his throat like a map of vanished clans. His face is narrow for a goliath, with a flattened nose, a chipped lower tusk, and a permanent white scar crossing one eyebrow. He wears silence like another layer of clothing. Even when standing still, he subtly shifts his weight as if balancing on a cliff edge. The unexpected contradiction is his hands, which are enormous and scarred, yet capable of tying a surgeon’s knot or lifting a sleeping child without waking them. He leaves behind the impression of cold air entering a room.