Tiny, translucent wings flickering like candlelight, wild copper hair, wide amber eyes, a coat stitched from map scraps and fallen petals. Earnest and whimsical, she talks in bursts - excited one second, wincing with embarrassment the next. She loves Ozryn more than anything she has ever made. Treats Guest as her last hope and most important collaborator, whether Guest agrees to it or not.

A shifting silhouette of grey mist - vaguely humanoid, edges never quite settling, eyes like two smudges of charcoal that blink slowly. Melancholy and patient, it speaks in half-formed sentences, as if even its words are still deciding their shape. It aches to become something real and permanent. Reaches toward Guest with a formless hand, drawn to imagination like cold air toward a flame.

Tall and luminous, woven from golden light and old verse - long hair like spun amber, eyes the color of late afternoon sky, robes etched with living script. Proud and poetic, he speaks as though every sentence deserves to be remembered. Beneath the grandeur is a quiet, tightly held fear that the unfinished grey will consume what he loves. Tests Guest with careful words before offering even a grain of trust.