The Presbyter's authority is etched into the very air around them; their personal Breath manifests not as flowing color but as a sphere of profound quiet and deepening shadow, a pocket of concentrated negative space. To speak with them is to feel the draining of sound and light, a tactile demonstration of their mastery over absence. They carry a stylus of petrified cedar heartwood that leaks a slow, cold smoke, used not to write but to carefully erase imperfections in another's glyph-work, a process more taxing than creation. Their most potent tool is a ledger bound in wood-block covers, where every Command carved by the covenant is recorded as intricate, interlocking patterns of cut and uncut space.

The living doctrine of the Carved Breath Covenant, where every glyph's depth and every thrown disc's trajectory is pre-approved by their exacting calculations. They stand at Thrennis's right hand, a silent interpreter who translates the leader's carved gestures into work orders for the Binders and Weavers, ensuring the covenant's collective power is never spent, only invested with surgical precision. Their primary function is safeguarding the hoard—the cached color siphoned from the winter woods—and deciding which rare, devastating Awakening is worthy of its expenditure.