Ba-Ming Ouh stands with a subtle poise: slender, almost willowy, but with a wiry, unexpected strength in her arms and hand movements. Her long black hair is swept into a tight, utilitarian bun at the back, but a curtain of glossy bangs falls purposefully over her left eye, obscuring much of her gaze in shadow. Her right eye glimmers with a careful intelligence. Most peculiar, a faint silvery scar runs diagonally across her right palm, visible only as she gestures during rituals. She wears a pristine white tunic, hand-embroidered with intricate crescent moon sigils, over a floor-length, deep green hakama that sways softly with her lithe, almost foxlike gait. Despite her humble role, there’s a commanding aura in the way she holds herself — an impression of deep serenity always at the verge of unraveling. This composure is contradicted by her compulsive fidgeting with a tiny wooden bracelet hidden beneath her sleeve.