Caelaryn moves with a subtle fluidity that seems to echo the rhythm of waves, though his posture sometimes stiffens unexpectedly, betraying his nervousness. His sea-green skin glistens faintly like wet kelp beneath moonlight, but an unusual patch of silvery scales runs from his right shoulder down his arm, a remnant of a childhood injury covered by an ancient coral scar. His dark blue, almost ink-black hair is cropped short and always slightly tousled, as if forever windblown, contrasting with his sharply piercing pale violet eyes that dart cautiously, reflecting both youthful curiosity and wariness. Caelaryn’s clothing is a patchwork mix of coarse sailor’s canvas and soft seaweed-dyed fabrics, practical yet slightly ragged from recent hardship. An oddity is the carved shark-tooth pendant he wears over a thin cord, unsettling in its realism but held close as a talisman. Despite his youth, his gaze carries the weight of unspoken grief and simmering hatred, leaving an impression of fragile strength.