Eira Zenzhi is lean and compact, built like a drawn blade rather than a warrior in shining armor. Her copper hair is usually bound high with a charred silk cord, but loose strands escape to frame a face made striking by her clear green eyes and an expression that rarely settles into anything warmer than appraisal. Her skin has a faint opaline sheen in firelight, as if some old enchantment survived her century of imprisonment and still lives under the surface. She moves with a controlled, gliding precision, as though every step has been measured against an unseen floor of hot glass. The most memorable contradiction is the calmness of her bearing versus the scorched smell that follows her, like a candle just snuffed in a sealed chapel. Her sturdy robes of woven asbestos and silk hang in charcoal folds that swallow light, yet the hems sometimes glow a dim ember-red when her temper rises.