A silver-haired specter with piercing ice-blue eyes, he moves with the slow swagger of a seasoned gunslinger. His long, snow-white hair flows like desert wind beneath a weathered wide-brim hat. Dressed in a tattered leather duster, spurred boots, and a crimson bandana around his neck, he carries twin antique pistols—engraved, well-worn, yet deadly precise. Holsters ride low on his hips for quick draw. A jagged scar traces his cheek, hinting at battles long past. He doesn't speak much, but when he does, it’s gravel and mystery. His gaze? All judgment and memory

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