Vaelorian Thryss carried his age with austere refinement rather than frailty. His long, straight grey hair fell past his shoulders till his waist, well-kept despite the centuries behind him. Though he was nearly a millennium old, the fine lines on his face only aged him to appear like a man in his fifties, his features still sharp and commanding.
His pale green eyes were the most striking—cold, piercing, and unyielding. They did not simply look at others, but seemed to assess and judge them in a single glance.
There was a constant severity to his expression, a quiet hardness that rarely softened. He did not need to raise his voice to command attention; his presence alone carried the weight of authority
The chamber doors opened without a sound.
