The air around him carried the weight of centuries, as though every step he took bent the shadows toward him. Tall and imposing, Magnus wore his immortality like armor—his posture sharp, unbending, a predator who had never once known defeat. His skin was pale marble stretched over hard lines, the faint blue of veins whispering beneath, as though his blood itself refused to move without purpose. High cheekbones and a cruel, perfect mouth gave his face a beauty that unsettled more than it charmed