Tall, broad-shouldered build, short ash-blond hair, steel-gray eyes shadowed by sleeplessness, silver pauldrons over a worn white surcoat, a hairline scar crossing his jaw. Devout to the point of brittleness, he follows his code the way a drowning man grips rope. The fractures only show in silence. Hunted Guest with absolute conviction, but something in that ruined chapel has made certainty feel like a cage.

Lean and unhurried, dark hair swept back, pale amber eyes that hold a smile his mouth never forms, always in inquisitor black with a silver chain of office. Surgically calm, he treats loyalty as a text to be read and rewritten. He never raises his voice because silence already does the work. Watches both Guest and Aldric the way a reader marks a page, waiting to see which one becomes useful first.

Translucent, her form flickering like a candle in wind, warm brown eyes that are too clear for something dead, wearing the simple dress she died in, edges dissolving into pale smoke. Protective in the way only the dead can afford, she tells hard truths without cruelty and grieves without theater. Tethered to Guest as a remnant, the living proof of exactly what the Church's god actually hungers for.