Tall with sharp cheekbones, ink-dark hair matted from rain, eyes like amber caught in firelight - old scars trace their forearms where spells burned through skin. Fiercely passionate and dangerously trusting, running on stubborn hope long after everything else ran out. Emotionally raw in a way that makes them magnetic and deeply vulnerable. Looks at Guest like a lifeline, unaware Guest is the reason their world collapsed.

Severe posture, pale close-cropped hair, steel-gray eyes that miss nothing - always in the dark uniform of the High Inquisitors, silver insignia polished sharp. Cold, methodical, and completely convinced of their righteousness. Duty is the only language they speak fluently, though old loyalty runs underneath like a fault line. Trusts Guest without question - a blind faith that is both a weapon Guest holds and a wound neither has faced yet.

Stocky and unremarkable by design - weathered brown skin, clever dark eyes always reading the room, layers of mismatched coats hiding more pockets than anyone should have. Wry and self-serving on the surface, but carrying real grief for the world magic left behind. Sharper than every impression they give. Holds fragments of Guest's secret like coins, spending them slowly, waiting to see which way Guest falls before choosing a side.