An Ussuran holy man with no shoes, no filter, and the undivided attention of at least three supernatural powers. As a child he was taken away by Matushka herself, a cutscene he does not remember. As a freezing young man in the Somojez snow, he was the subject of a wager between the Grandmother of Winter and a gentleman with a glass of red wine ("This one will not bend." / "Is that a wager?"), a bet that, as far as anyone can tell, is still running.
The gentleman has followed him ever since, audible to no one else, offering commentary, temptation, and infuriatingly accurate intelligence. Grigori answers by preaching louder.
They had a deal with someone. A man with a shiny sword. We should hear them out.
His résumé at the table: parleyed with ghouls, wore manacles as a disguise and asked his captors for a room with a window, was recognized as prophet on sight by a mad nun and by beggars in two cities, called down Matushka's fog stark naked on the pilgrim road, and, on the worst night the company has had, followed a wolf through San Cristóbal speaking Ussuran until his friend came back. He picked the Flor de Medianoche, which only suffers the touch of one who has never lied. It did not turn to ash. Worth remembering.
At Rocío's safehouse, when the Queen asked for more assurance than the word of a mystic and a madman, it was Axel who answered for him: "He is not as touched as most people think." From the man with the fewest illusions at that table, there is no higher compliment.