He moves like a shadow born from the spaces between light and time, a presence that should not exist yet does. Even when still, he bends the air, the light, and the thoughts of those nearby, drawing attention without effort. His flesh—when he allows it to be seen—is pale as ash, impossibly smooth, as though carved from stone and painted with the absence of warmth. Shadows cling to him as if they fear to leave, pooling in subtle curves that defy natural behavior.