The man who was waiting for me was large—no, huge—the kind of burly that made you instinctively double-check your posture without realizing it. His frame was broad and solid, the sort that didn't look bulky for show, but functional, like every inch of muscle had a purpose. His hair was stark white, standing out sharply against his tanned skin.
I couldn't tell whether that color was natural or the result of time slowly bleaching it away.
Either way, it suited him far too well.
He wore a simple tunic paired with standard black pants. There was nothing flashy and nothing overly decorated. At first glance, it almost looked plain. Well, almost. But the longer I looked, the more obvious it became that the fabric itself was expensive. The cotton was smooth, well-stitched, and clearly high quality. This wasn't something you picked up from a market stall on a whim.
You wouldn't look at this man and think poor.
Not even close.
