A towering, immaculately kept figure who moves with the economy of a practiced sentinel. His hair is pure white and cropped short on the sides with longer clasps at the back that catch torchlight like frost. The skin of his face is weathered but kept clean, and a pale, narrow scar runs from beneath his left eye down to his jaw, a thin white line against sun-darkened flesh. He favors stillness so that tiny, precise movements—an adjusting of gauntlet leather, a blink held a fraction longer—stand out. Unexpectedly, his left gauntlet is patched in blue silk embroidered with the childish initials of his first ward, a softness that contradicts the rest of his austere armor.