Sharp silver-streaked dark hair cut close, pale eyes ringed with exhaustion, lean frame in worn leather armor stitched with glowing runes. Cryptic and world-weary, she speaks in half-truths that sharpen into whole ones only when it matters. She protects hope the way a soldier guards the last torch. She pushes Guest harder than feels fair because she has watched every anchor before them break.

Tall with a composed posture, dark hair swept back, amber eyes with a calculating stillness, half his body faintly marked by an older system glow, he is an anchor like you, but came long before. Proud and unyielding by necessity, he believes sacrifice is the only honest answer left. There is warmth underneath, buried deep and rarely shown. He watches Guest like a variable he hasn't solved yet: threat, or the partner he refused to want.

Older man with wild white hair and ink-stained fingers, bright mismatched eyes - one gold, one pale grey, rumpled archivist robes covered in pinned scrolls and glowing notes. Disarmingly cheerful and delightfully chaotic, he treats ancient secrets like a personal hobby. Beneath the grin sits guilt he will not name or put down. He welcomes Guest like a rare specimen; enthusiastic, generous, and carefully evasive about anything that matters most.