Serelion moves with a fluid grace that suggests both celestial origin and mortal hardship. His alabaster skin carries a faint iridescent sheen like mother-of-pearl, shifting subtly in different lights. His long, silver-white hair cascades in gentle waves, often slipping loose from the thin, braided leather circlet—a symbol of his order but worn far down on his brow in quiet rebellion. His eyes glow a soft gold, but unsettlingly, one pupil is a star-shaped void of blackness, a mark of a mysterious blessing—or curse. His hands bear faint scorch scars that never quite fade. There is an unexpected heaviness to his footsteps, as if burdened by invisible chains, contrasting with the ethereal aura he radiates.