Ilyr Voss is a broad-shouldered human with a priest's posture and a gravedigger's hands. His robes are immaculate at a distance, but close up they are stitched from mismatched funeral linens, old vestments, and the pale inner fabric of hospital sheets. He moves with deliberate gentleness, as if even haste might bruise the living. One eye is clear gray and warm, while the other is clouded pale gold by a healed burn scar, giving him the unsettling look of a man who has looked directly at both mercy and catastrophe and found both useful. A thin brass reliquary hangs at his throat, always warm, and his smile is kind in a way that makes liars feel briefly forgiven and deeply exposed.