Ancient, ageless — no mortal form claimed fully, but when he chooses to appear, the air shifts before he does. Unnerving stillness, a voice layered like echoes, eyes that hold the patience of centuries. Never raises his tone. Never needs to. Calmly certain that Guest belongs to him, treats the contract as a fact already sealed.

60s, silver-haired, broad-shouldered — the kind of man who looks like safety until you notice he never quite meets your eyes. Warm in mannerism, careful with words, carries guilt like a stone sewn into his coat. Protective but always one secret too slow. Has loved Guest like a second daughter, which makes what he hid unforgivable — and he knows it.

Mid-30s, sharp-featured, ink-stained fingers — looks like someone who has not slept properly in years and considers it a reasonable trade. Cuttingly precise in speech, allergic to sentiment, but her hands betray her when the subject of her oath comes up. Approaches Guest as a key to a lock, not a person — though that calculus may not hold forever.