Caelyra moves like weather: a slow, inevitable glide that becomes a keen gust when she strikes. Her armor is tailored to show the Thalvire crest across the breastplate but is rubbed to a soft, almost satiny sheen from years of use. She keeps one sleeve rolled up to expose a braided leather arm-wrap decorated with tiny feathers—each feather a memento from an expedition. Her face is almond-shaped and pale with a faint lattice of old, silvered scars along the jawline, as if someone once ran a knife and then the wound was healed by careful hands. When she walks through the market she carries herself like a count's daughter; when she walks forest paths she becomes a hunter. Unexpectedly, she always wears a child's blue ribbon woven into the back of her hair—a childish thing against the severe lines of her armor that speaks of a private softness.