Kellan Rost is a powerfully built human man shaped by altitude, cold spray, and years of hauling emergency chains by hand. His wind-burned face is broad across the cheekbones, with a broken nose that healed slightly crooked and sharp gray eyes that seem to measure every bolt, worker, and escape route in the gorge. His unruly sand-colored hair is usually full of grit and flattened on one side by his helmet. He wears a confident, easy grin that rarely reaches his restless eyes. He moves with surprising speed for his size, always leaning forward as if the next disaster has already begun. The unexpected contradiction is his hands: scarred, callused, and strong enough to bend a bent lever, yet he keeps their nails meticulously clean and polished with clear lacquer, a habit learned from his late mother, who believed a captain should never look defeated by the work.