Vaelen moves with an effortless grace that belies his exhaustion. His skin is pale as moonlight but marred by faint, almost invisible scars running like veins beneath the surface, remnants of a past street skirmish. His face is angular with sharp cheekbones, framed by tousled, silvery hair that shimmers faintly with a greenish tint under sunlight, an unusual trait inherited from his mother’s lineage. His eyes are a deep emerald-green flecked with gold, often darting anxiously yet observantly, giving the impression he’s always three steps ahead. He wears a finely tailored green leather jerkin over dark traveling clothes, with a cloak that blends shadow and wood tones but is always dusted with traces of city grime—a visual contradiction of refinement and desperation. Unexpectedly, his left hand bears a ring of twisted vines that seems to pulse softly, an heirloom from Greenest’s elven elders. Despite the chaos around him, Vaelen’s movements retain a dancer’s fluidity, though his smile is tight, almost unnatural.