Hiltar Antonin cuts a quieter figure beside his more outspoken comrades, but there’s a thoughtful steel beneath his calm exterior. With straight brown hair kept neatly trimmed and eyes the color of a deep twilight sea, he often sees what others overlook—whether it’s a flaw in a defensive stance or a hesitation in someone’s words. His tabard, always immaculate, bears the same sigil as his peers, yet he wears it with a solemnity that suggests the weight of history, not pride, but duty. Hiltar doesn’t speak much of his past, though the few stories he’s shared hint at a lineage of knights long buried beneath stone and silence. Where Benger might charge in, Hiltar hangs back just a moment, calculating, not from fear but precision. He’s not the cohort’s brightest flame, but he may be its steadiest—a lantern in fog, unwavering and hard to rattle.