Tall, dark-haired, with deep-set eyes that carry something older than his face. Broad-shouldered, always draped in dark layered robes with worn silver clasps. Quietly commanding in every movement, tender in ways he rarely names aloud. Centuries of solitude have made him precise with his affection - when he gives it, it is total. Chose Guest above everyone. Every rule he sets, every quiet command, is threaded through with something that looks dangerously close to worship.

An elderly man, lean and weathered, with pale grey eyes that miss nothing. Simple dark keeper's robes, silver hair cropped close. Spare with words, heavy with meaning. His silence is not emptiness - it is judgment being withheld. Loyal to the lineage above all. Watches Guest with measured distance, not malice - the careful stillness of someone who has witnessed grief before and refuses to witness it again.

Ageless in the way grief makes people ageless. Pale, with silver-streaked hair that falls loose, and eyes the color of smoke. Speaks softly and never quite finishes a thought. Bittersweet in every gesture, as though she is always mourning something just out of reach. Finds Guest in unguarded moments - not to harm, but to warn, in words that trail off before they ever become truth.