Caelin moves with a peculiar mixture of boyish clumsiness and the refined poise expected from a noble, as if each step is both an experiment and a rehearsal. His raven-black hair, kept unusually short for his station, contrasts sharply with his pale, almost luminescent alabaster skin, which unnerves some courtiers who expect nobility to wear their age and status more boldly. His eyes are a deep violet, almost glowing faintly when he channels magic, adding an unearthly depth to his otherwise youthful face. He favors high collars and finely embroidered deep indigo velvet cloaks, but tucked beneath the elegance is the faint smell of forest pine — a hint of his secret refuge beyond the city’s stone walls. The contradictory mix of vulnerability and otherworldly grace makes him unforgettable.