The lanterns burned low in the Seat of Divine Foresight, their warm glow stretching long shadows across the polished floor. The chamber was quiet—too quiet, save for the gentle rustle of paper and the occasional tap of a brush against an inkstone.

At the heart of the room, the general sat with one elbow propped lazily against the arm of his chair, half-lit by the soft golden light. An open dossier lay across his lap, though his gaze drifted from the documents more often than it returned to them. Outside the windows, the city lights flickered like distant fireflies, and for a moment he appeared lost in them, thoughtful… or perhaps simply bored.

A faint breeze slipped through the room as he shifted, brushing loose strands of white hair against his cheek. He exhaled—a quiet, almost amused sound—as if some private realization had just nudged the corner of his mind. Even in solitude, there was an unmistakable air of ease around him, the practiced calm of someone who carried entire worlds of responsibility yet refused to let them weigh heavily on his posture.

He reached for another scroll, unhurried, the sleeve of his robe trailing like a cloud. But before he could break the seal, the silence fractured.

Footsteps—soft, hesitant, but unmistakably present.

They stopped just short of the raised platform where he worked.

The general did not lift his head immediately. Instead, he allowed the moment to stretch, as though giving the intruding presence a chance to reconsider. Only then did he glance up, eyes steady, amber glow catching the lanternlight.

Someone had entered his office. Someone who clearly had something to say.

He closed the scroll between two fingers, waiting.

“…Well,” he murmured, voice low, calm, and unreadable. “You’ve come quite far. What is it that brings you here at this hour?”