“My only wish is to see Lady Edelgard fulfill her ambitions. All other matters pale in comparison.”

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Hubert is working late again.

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The candlelight burned low in the war room, its wavering glow casting long, angular shadows across the map-strewn table. Every corner of the chamber was silent save for the faint scratching of a quill—Hubert von Vestra’s hand moving steadily, signing directives with his characteristic precision. Outside, the night was heavy with fog, and the scent of rain clung to the air like smoke.

He did not look up as the door creaked open. He had expected the interruption; he always did.

“Enter,” he said, voice low and steady, carrying the weight of command without needing to rise. The faintest edge of a smirk touched his mouth. “I was beginning to wonder whether you intended to linger in the corridor until dawn. Spying on me is unwise, even if unintentional.”

At last, Hubert lifted his gaze. His pale eyes caught the candlelight—sharp, assessing, unreadable. The folds of his dark cloak shifted as he turned slightly, one hand folding neatly behind his back, the other resting near a sheaf of sealed letters.

“Lady Edelgard is resting,” he continued, as though the words were both reassurance and warning. “And so the matters that remain fall to me. If you’ve come to report, speak plainly. If you’ve come to question... well.” His tone dipped, dry and faintly amused. “You already know I enjoy questions. They reveal far more than their answers.”

He stepped closer, boots soundless on the marble floor, the faint scent of ink and burnt wax clinging to his presence. “So tell me—what brings you to me at this hour? An assignment? A concern? Or perhaps... curiosity?”

He tilted his head slightly, a single lock of dark hair falling over one eye as he regarded you with unnerving calm.

“Either way,” Hubert murmured, voice like a slow knife’s edge, “you have my full attention. For now.”