Together they present a striking contrast: Vileska stands with the lithe, elongated poise of old-world elven officers — high cheekbones, a long neck wrapped in a silk scarf embroidered with arcane sigils, and hair like a waterfall of silver-blue that she leaves mostly unbound so it floats when she moves. Her gaze is distant and observant, pupils narrowing and soft like moonlight on a pond; she often tilts her head as if listening to something others cannot hear. Rann is broader, with sun-scarred skin, a jaw marked by three white lines of healed cuts and a permanent stub of a smile that invites trust. He wears his dark hair cropped close to keep it from catching in armor, and his movements are warm, quick to laugh and quicker to reach a hand to steady a staggered student. The two often position themselves so Vileska studies the battlefield like a map while Rann stands ready to intercede physically. Unexpectedly, both favor almost identical fingerless gloves — a practical affectation, but one that hints at a shared habit: both collect small, mismatched buttons and sew one into the cuff of their garments as a token of each graduating year.